


Red Rover

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-07-05
Updated: 2001-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-20 19:27:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11341791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Walter Skinner takes a trip to the wild side with someone who brings some interesting complications along for the ride.





	Red Rover

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Red Rover, an IWTB Round Robin

TITLE: Red Rover  
An IWTB Round Robin  
NAME: IWTB authors: frogdoggie, Char Chaffin, Paige Caldwell, Shelby Parker, Avalon, Rachel Woods, Liz L. Iacono, ga, Rachel, truthygirl, Ms_X.  
FEEDBACK: , , , , , , , , , ,   
CATEGORY: SRA  
RATING: NC-17. SK/O. MSR This story contains very explicit slash i.e. m/m sex. So, if you don't like that type of thing - STOP NOW! Forewarned is forearmed. Proceed with caution.   
SUMMARY: Walter Skinner takes a trip to the wild side with someone who brings some interesting complications along for the ride. Missing a part of this story or just want to read more of my fic? Then surf here: http://www.squidge.org/3wstop Also, "Red Rover" is archived on the "I Want to Believe" web site at: http://www.geocities.com/iwtbxf/  
FEEDBACK - YES PLEASE, AND THANK YOU SIR, CAN I HAVE ANOTHER? Comments, suggestions and healthy debate are always welcome. Flames? They only serve to warm my body and mind.  
ARCHIVE: Sure. Anywhere - as long as my name and e-mail addy stay on it.   
TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: Everything up to SR819 in Season 6. Specific spoilers for Redux, Anasazi, Duane Barry, Fight the Future and Tithonius.  
KEYWORDS: story, slash, Skinner, Mulder, Scully, NC-17  
DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder, Walter Skinner, Dana Scully and all other X-Files characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions and 20th Century FOX Broadcasting. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made from their use.

* * *

Red Rover - Part 1  
by frogdoggie  


Whenever I come to a place like this, I think of him. I can't help it. It's easy to slip into that memory because oddly enough, I met him in a noisy dance club very much like this one.

Oh sure, back in those days there were more faceted disco balls spinning on the ceiling, more cocaine I didn't snort as opposed to the strobe lights that reflect off my bald head and the Ecstasy I turn down today. The special effects and drugs may have changed but the ambiance and activities are essentially the same...men cruising men and that's how I met him. 

I should have realized a proper English gentleman didn't frequent a noisy gay meat market where I picked up guys significantly different from him and asked them to suck me off. But that was back when I was young and just dumb enough to think a man like that would visit a bar like that one. I was even more dumb in that respect then when I later went through my 'I'm a happy heterosexual' phase and married Sharon to prove it. 

Ok, let's say I was a naive kid from Ambler, Pennsylvania by way of Nam and the University of Texas. Yeah, Vietnam busted my cherry in a lot of ways...but it taught me to kill men...not what it meant when my body and mind told me I wanted to make love to them. So, I guess I was ripe pickings...big, brash, and more than a bit bitter...and just simple enough to feel flattered that someone cultured, some guy with elegant hands and well manicured fingernails wanted to take me home.

I sit at the bar now, remembering that English gentleman with some fondness despite what I found out about him later...despite his machinations...and his associations. Hell, the conversation was good at least, some of the connections worthwhile, and he always treated me with respect. Enough respect to let me get where I wanted to go on my own too without undo influence to those in power who could help get me there. I valued that fact because at least it gave me a measure of autonomy...made me feel like I was my own man. Made me know I got into the Bureau and climbed the FBI ladder on my own merits right into the AD's office.

The sex wasn't much...his kink was he liked to beat off while he watched me masturbate and that was about it. Once in a while he'd pump the porpoise while he watched me work out...I mean I'd do the snatch, clean and jerk with the weights instead of jerk my cock. Our sessions together, such as they were, lasted well into my marriage with Sharon. I rationalized them by telling myself it wasn't cheating on her. He never touched me...and I never touched him, after all. I never actually fucked around on Sharon with man or woman for the 18 years we were together. After the separation and divorce was another matter. Carina Sayles was probably the only woman...one last ditch effort at het "respectability" there I guess...before I threw in my lot with the guys on the bar scene again.

After a while the whacking off marathons petered out...so to speak. I got the impression the Englishman liked fresh meat--younger men in other words--guys with more hair as well. But he didn't tell me that outright. Like I said, he did treat me with respect. He didn't do his voyeur act any longer but he stayed what passed for a friend. Our relationship moved into that deadly game of treading the line; the cat and mouse game of double and triple dealing to fight the future which eventually ended in his death...and may yet end in mine.

I didn't love him really. I admired his...tenacity, his strength of will. I admired those qualities and at the same time I hated the fact he was a stone cold killer and arrogant despot. I think I loved Sharon in a brother-and-sister way more than I even liked the Brit. I haven't met anyone in a bar I could really love yet. Fuck, yes...form a relationship with, no. But I can thank that Limey bastard for something if it wasn't 20 years of loving 'married' bliss. He eventually offered me a way out. He made sure I was introduced to Fox Mulder and Dana Scully. He dangled my salvation in front of my nose and like the proverbial carrot. All I had to do was snap it up.

I keep telling myself I'm working on snapping that salvation up...albeit slowly. Well...whatever. At any rate, I'm here tonight because I'm trying to get over the fact that my agents of salvation aren't really my agents of salvation right now. Sure it's been a while, but I'm still drowning my sorrows over the fact that Mulder and Scully have been pulled from my jurisdiction and assigned to AD Kersh. And I'm hitting the bottle tonight because if they were still assigned to me, Scully wouldn't have been nearly shot to death in New York City. I swear to God if I could strangle Alvin Kersh with my bare hands, I would. Oh yeah...the aftermath of Scully's 'New York adventure' made me want a drink very badly when it happened...and it still does. And sometimes I feel like I need a drink and need to get laid if for no other reason than to relieve the tension. Christ...even I get sick of beating my own meat. So, here I am, empty shot glasses in front of me...accomplishing one need...and hoping to accomplish the other tonight.

I hardly ever go to the bars any more. I guess at my age I'm finally wise enough to realize cruising in a gay bar is a risk I'm no longer willing to take. But every once in a while I get that itch and sometimes I have to scratch it. So I come down to this section of DC and pick a very crowded, noisy dance club where no one is liable to spot an Assistant Director of the FBI cruising for cock. Oh, I do take some precautions. I make an attempt at anonymity. First I ditch the glasses and put in contacts. It's surprising how different I look without the lenses. Since it's usually a Saturday night when I make my forays, I don't shave. And last but not least...I don't wear FBI business attire. I lock my gun and badge in the glove compartment of my car for starters. And my 'dress for success' look here is black jeans, black biker boots and a black T-shirt...and since it's January...a black leather jacket. Yeah, I know...'Men in Black'. Mulder would never let me live it down if he knew.

But Mulder doesn't know...and neither does Scully...and if I have anything to say about it, they never will know. They've already got too much that can be used against them...and bailing my ass out of someplace I probably can't and really don't want it to be bailed out of at this juncture isn't something else I want them to have to shoulder. I haven't got much else to lose, and on a night like this, with a few shots in my belly, I'm not sure if I lose it I'll care anyway.

The bartender gives me an eyebrow raise and I nod, lifting my shot glass toward him. I've already had two, but I could use a third whiskey. I haven't gotten 'lucky in love' yet tonight. So maybe I'll just get drunk and take a cab home instead. I left my car in the Bureau garage and took a cab here anyway. I can always pick up the Olds at the Hoover tomorrow.

When the bartender delivers my fresh shot, I turn and rest my ass and elbows against the bar, just holding the whiskey so I can observe the crowd. The dance floor stretches out in front of me in all its strobe-lit, roiling-mass-of-humanity glory. The throb and electronic whine of a song by Prodigy makes the crowd bump and grind almost as one. 'Smack My Bitch Up' the distorted voice of the vocalist shouts and I wince...I hate the lyrics sometimes, even if the beat does get into my blood.

The teeming multitude is sweaty and enthusiastic. I've been asked to dance twice already but neither partner was particularly appealing to me. They moved on and hooked up with someone else. Maybe I'm being too choosy...I don't know. Fuck...maybe I should settle down. Find some nice, middle-aged executive and throw myself into a committed relationship just like all the other happily married couples.

Yeah, right...who am I kidding regarding who I am and what I do? No matter how much I want it I don't think that kind of relationship is out there for me. Maybe I don't want it anyway? I tell myself I'm just not sure at any rate. However...just because I opt for one night stands doesn't mean I have to pick just anyone. I can try for some quality even if it's only a few hours worth of stimulating company.

At my age I just can't go with someone who's 19 and pierced from head to toe. For one thing...I'm no chicken hawk. I'm not into robbing the cradle when it comes to my bed partners. A kid that young hasn't been around long enough to even have a conversation with to be honest. There's just too much age difference, too little life experience for him...and maybe way too much for me to find a common ground, even for fucking. So, I don't pick jailbait. I just can't relate, I guess.

No, I look for a guy who's a little older...someone in shape...someone who looks well groomed and has interesting, intelligent eyes...and yeah...someone who looks like he might be well hung because lets face it...if I'm gonna suck it I want at least a mouth full. So, I look for someone.... like that red headed guy who just walked onto the dance floor. Yeah...someone like the guy who's dancing with the dread-locked African American man right in front of me.

Red's not as tall as I am, but he's muscular and fit. He's dressed simply.faded Levis, belted around a trim waist, and a white T-shirt.neat and clean at least. His jean jacket is spotless as well. Yeah, he looks good right down to his Timberland work-boots. Maybe he's going for that construction worker look. The Levi's are nice and tight so I know he's probably serious about looking for action. I can see enough of his package to know I wouldn't mind being the action. 

I have to admit I've never been with a red head. I never gave much thought to whether I'd like that hair color...but I'm attracted to a good head of hair. It's ironic how something you lack sometimes attracts you to someone else. But this guy's hair is interesting and I guess that's what made me notice him. His hair isn't that brassy, carrot red; it's slightly more subdued but it's rich and attractive nonetheless with a better than average hair cut. He's got a mustache as well...same color as his head hair, and it's trimmed nicely which is another plus in my book. I wonder...I find myself suppressing a smile as that age-old question pops into my head. I wonder if he's a real red head...and I realize, yeah...I'd like to take his pants off and find out.

I watch the red head twist and thrust his hips at his dread-locked dance partner. He raises his arms above his head and rocks his whole body from head to toe; swaying like a wave to the heavy beat of another Prodigy song. My eyes follow his rippling muscles and I can feel warmth pulsing in my groin. Yeah, this is my man for the night I think as he and his partner fade further into the crowd on the dance floor. He may be gone right now, but I'll find him later. When I see him again tonight...he's going to be mine.

xXx

Shifting, I lever up from leaning against the bathroom wall and make my way to the urinal that's finally available in front of me. It seems like I've been standing here forever with my legs squeezed tight waiting to empty my bladder.

The club's packed though, and all the urinals were in use when I came in. The stalls were seeing business too...and not all of it excretory. I made a point not to stare at the legs of some guy in the last stall, or the face of the guy standing in front of him. I could see that guy's head above the stall walls so his grimacing was a little more difficult to ignore...but I managed. Personally I don't get into restroom sex and I wouldn't kneel on that floor on the used condoms and discarded poppers even if I did...but I guess neither guy cares. The amount of noise they're making certainly attests to the fact they don't care who knows what they're doing anyway.

I move in close to the urinal and unzip my jeans. I barely get my dick up over the elastic band of my BVDs before I'm pissing against the porcelain. I sigh and it's then I notice a man belly up to the urinal next to me. I slowly look over...a gay bar's bathroom being probably the only men's rooms where you can look at the man next to you...and spot the red headed guy from the dance floor. 

Ah ha, I think...gotcha!

Red must sense that I'm looking at him because his head carefully swivels in my direction. Our eyes meet. He has remarkable light blue eyes...blue with a dark circle around each pupil to make the light blue even more evident. Arresting eyes and long eyelashes. I give him a genuine 'you can see all my teeth' smile. It might be ego talking but I think I have a good smile. I've had independent confirmation of it anyway. So, although I very rarely smile in precisely this way, when I do...it can work to my advantage. The red head raises an eyebrow and then chuckles a little before our eyes turn back to staring at the wall ahead of us. It's kind of hard to flirt and piss at the same time to be truthful.

I try to time my bodily function to Red's so we can both get zipped up at about the same moment...and away from the urinals together. As soon as we're at the restroom doors I make my move. I walk ahead of him and push the door open, holding it for him as he passes out next to me.

"Thanks," he says, giving me a nod.

"Welcome. Buy you a drink?"

"Sure."

Ah...it's kismet.

xXx

"San Francisco. Oh yeah, I know it. I've been there," I say, taking a sip of my drink. 

We're sitting in the club's back bar where it's quieter so we can get to know each other a little. Red and I are drinking whiskey and soda now...his order and I emulated it...and we've gotten past the first name introductions and the city in which he resides.

I shouldn't keep calling him Red. He has a name after all. His said his name's Arthur, but Art is fine. No last name. I told him I'm Walter...Walt to my friends. I winced inside too. It's a load of shit...no one calls me Walt, friend or foe, in bed or out of bed. Even Sharon never called me Walt. But shit...I don't know...I just told him to call me Walt for some reason. Maybe it's because I like the laugh lines around his eyes or the light spray of freckles over his nose. I didn't give him my last name either though. I never give a one-night stand my real last name. I'm not that much of a risk taker. Maybe Art isn't either.

"Recently?" Art replies. "Did you go to 'The Boiler Room'? It's one of the popular bars right now."

"No. I was out there years ago--on business. I didn't get out to the clubs even then."

Art nods and takes a swig of his whiskey and soda. He studies me for a moment after he swallows, his eyes sweep over my face. I can tell he's measuring me, evaluating. Deciding whether I'm safe to go with tonight. He must have liked what he's seen so far because he stayed around to talk to me. And I'll tell you...he's easy going and has a sense of humor. He's quite likable and if he decides he likes me, we're definitely all set for the night.

"So, Walt...what do you do for business...if you don't mind me asking?" He cocks a red-haired eyebrow and gives me a self-effacing grin.

"Let's just say I work for the government." I demure a little on the answer. I'm still not comfortable giving too much away. I give him a self-deprecating smile in return.

"Like practically everyone in DC," he chuckles, looking away from me and into the mirror in back of the bar. 

I turn my head and gaze at our reflections as well where they intermingle with the crowd of men around us. It dawns on me suddenly as I take in his intelligent pale blue eyes that we don't make a bad picture together really. It's kind of a contrast...but something...I don't know...maybe it's the fucking pheromones. Maybe I'm fantasizing how we look pretty good together because I'm as horny as hell now.

"So, what brings you to DC?" I ask out of real curiosity as I turn my attention back to his profile. Sure, I'm still interested in him as a person even though I want to get him out of here and somewhere private so we can hump each other's brains out.

I can usually peg what a person does after talking to and observing them for a little while, but this guy is hard to pin down. He swallows his liquor and puts the glass down with a hollow clink on the wooden bar. His head comes back around.

"It's a two-fold reason really. I'm visiting family but I'm also here on business. I'm a painter and I'm trying to get my work into some DC galleries."

"Any luck?"

"Yeah, I think I've got a bite...or two," he replies. He smiles then and chuckles again.

"What?" I ask wondering what's humorous about his possible success.

"Walt...you're probably one of the few people who hasn't said 'Gee...that makes you Art the artist' in a very long time."

It's my turn to chuckle then.

"Well I'll confess it did cross my mind. But..."

"But it sounded inane and you knew I hate it, so you didn't say it?"

"Do I look that perceptive?" I ask, my voice a little husky as I stare into his eyes.

"Yeah, you do," Art replies simply. 

I smile and look back down at my whiskey and soda.

"It sounded like a pick-up line...so I didn't use it...even though I am trying to pick you up," I reply honestly. Ok, it's out on the table now. No sense beating around the bush any longer. I know I want this guy, now it's time to declare my intentions.

He laughs, a full melodious baritone laugh, and I feel his hand caress my arm. I bring my head up to look into his lucid blue eyes again. The guy's close enough to my height, especially sitting down, and I can stare directly into the depths of his eyes as he answers.

"Perceptive and honest...I like that. Yeah...I'm trying to pick you up too. I'm just a little slow at it...it's been a while."

I look up and raise an eyebrow.

"A while?"

He shrugs.

"Yeah...but don't worry about it. It's been over between my ex and me for two years now. We were together for 3 years but...well...we just...we finally called it quits. His priorities changed and so did mine...we grew out of love...that kind of thing. I just haven't been to the bars all that often in the past year. I've been holed up in the studio producing enough work for exhibition. I guess I'm a little rusty."

"Rusty." I chuckle.

"Oh fuck...yeah...I left myself open for a red head joke there, didn't I?"

I laugh a little harder.

"Yeah, you did."

"At least 'rusty' isn't as bad as 'red rover'," he retorts.

"Oh shit...like that old child's rhyme?"

"Yeah, 'Red Rover, Red Rover, let Johnny come over'...I used to hate that shit when the kids got wind of it in grade school."

"Nothing's too out-of-date to fuck with another kid's head I guess," I reply, shaking my head.

He nods but then he gives me a self-deprecating smile. 

"But I am rusty."

I take his hand. His freckled fingers are warm and slightly rough in mine. 

"Listen...I don't always like to take this shit fast either. You wanna dance? I'm not the best but I think I can keep up with you."

"Sure. I was hoping you'd ask. And I have to tell you, Walt. You've got the kind of body I like...big and muscular, and not to mention an ass to die for. I'd definitely like to see you move that around on the dance floor a little."

I give him a wolfish grin.

"Rusty my ass, Art," I reply. He tips his head back and Art howls his laughter. I pull him after me and we wind our way back up to the dance floor.

xXx

We share a cab back to his hotel. He says he's staying downtown rather than in the burbs with his family because it makes it easier to meet with the gallery owners. I get a sense also that Art's family isn't comfortable with his lifestyle. Yeah, well...been there done that and we won't bring it up.

I came off the dance floor with a hard-on and even though it wilted after another whiskey and soda the memory of Art grinding against me to an eardrum-bursting song by Ministry has me keyed up and running hot.

Art lays his head back against the seat and I'm tempted to let my mouth run along that ligament that stretches enticingly in his neck. His neck's even a little sweaty and I know if I get my nose over there I'm going to be able to smell the aroma of his perspiration and cologne even better than I can from my side of the back seat. I really enjoy smelling a guy when he's sweaty and aroused...it turns me on even more. But I restrain myself out of a sense of tight-assed propriety I guess. Either that or the idea that patience has it's rewards. I know when I do get to smell and taste Art the wait's going to make it a head rush...for both the big head and the little head.

I let my hand snake over and rest on the top of his thigh. My fingers start to insinuate themselves between his legs. I watch his profile carefully to make sure I'm not rushing things even now. He smiles a little and spreads his legs apart slightly, letting me reach down and caress his cock and balls through his jeans. 

His mouth drops open a little and his head turns toward me. 

"You have incredible eyes, you know that?" he murmurs as I shift closer and drape my other arm behind his shoulders, I glance up into the review mirror. Luckily, the cabby's oblivious to what's going on in the back seat. If he'd been looking I would have moved back because even after...and maybe because of...all those years of being watched by the Englishman, I don't like it when someone sees me making out nowadays.

"So do you. They're like...hell...I could say they're like the sky on a clear, winter day...but that would sound like a load of romantic crap, wouldn't it?"

He gulps a little as my hand strokes his genitals. I stroke lightly, teasing his flesh and take satisfaction in feeling his cock swell under my ministrations.

His brow furrows a little and he places his hand over mine, stilling it.

"Say it if that's what you mean. Having a guy act butch isn't something I necessarily need, Walt," he whispers, his voice gentle.

I can feel my ears redden slightly. Fuck...maybe I'm the one who should say I'm rusty...or clueless.

"You have beautiful eyes...they're like the sky on a clear, winter day," I find myself replying without a trace of macho embarrassment.

He leans over and kisses me gently, his lips holding the promise of more to come as the cab speeds through the cold January DC streets.

-END OF PART 1-

 

* * *

 

Red Rover - Part 2  
by frogdoggie  


Art's room at the Hilton is posh without being pretentious. I shut the door behind us and stand on the threshold as he moves further into the room.

"Make yourself at home," he suggests, with an all encompassing wave of his hand.

I glance around at the suitcase and portfolio neatly closed and placed just so next to the dresser...the clothes hung up precisely in the small closet next to the door...the toiletries laid out carefully on the vanity in the bathroom opposite the closet. Something in the correctness of all that says "military" to me. I wonder if Art was in the Army or Marines. Being in the service would certainly account for him putting his possessions away that perfectly.

"Walter?" Art asks, dragging my attention back to reality. 

"Sorry...uh...can I put my coat over there too?" I ask just to make conversation. I point toward where he's draping his Jean jacket neatly over a chair across the room

"No problem. Look...you want another drink? I have a bottle of Seagram's in the closet there," he replies gesturing with his chin to the half of the closet door that's actually closed. "I'm going to take a quick shower."

I check my cell phone to make sure it's secure in my coat pocket. Then I start to shrug out of my coat and walk over to stand in front of him.

"Would you mind if I joined you in the shower?" I smile as I take my coat off.

He grins.

"No. I'd like that."

I toss my leather jacket over the chair opposite the one with his Jean jacket over it. Before he can leave my side for the bathroom, I take hold of his wrist.

"Wait," I implore. He raises an eyebrow as I step close and press my nose into his sweating neck. "I just want to smell you before you wash it all away."

He chuckles as I snuffle the skin on his neck and jaw. I can feel the rumble of his chuckle against my lips and nose. His vibrating beard stubble tickles quite nicely.

"It?" he asks

"Yeah...and I want to taste it too," I rumble, my voice rough with arousal.

"Taste what?" he sighs as I run my tongue along his neck and under his ear.

"Your sex," I whisper, pressing my mouth to him and sucking in his sweet and salty flavored skin.

He lets out a gasp and brings his hand up to press my head further into his flesh.

I can feel his pulse racing under my tongue as I suck and then lap over the artery below his skin. His other hand snakes down and rubs over the front of my Jeans, finding my cock with perfect accuracy. We stand there, pleasuring each other for a few moments and then I pull back and look into his blue eyes. Eyes that are heavy lidded with his arousal now. He gives me a wicked smile.

"You still want to take the time to shower?" I ask making my voice a low rumbling purr that I know works well in this type of situation.

"No," he chuckles. "Let's go to bed."

"Honest...and to the point...I like that." I reply giving his hair a playful ruffle. He takes my hand suddenly and his face grows serious.

"Look...I'm clean, and I'm assuming you are...but you have to know...I don't ride bareback, regardless. So..."

I give his hand a squeeze.

"No problem. Yeah, I'm clean too but I always use a condom...I don't relish fucking someone's ass and ending up with a urinary tract infection either."

He nods, seemingly satisfied and releases my hand.

"The condoms and lube are in my shaving kit," he informs me. "I'll get 'em," he adds, smiling.

I smile in return and he leaves my side. While he's in the can I take a minute to remove my contacts and toss them away. They're disposable and I have another pair in my jacket. I've learned the hard way that being a little nearsighted beats having a cornea scratched during a hard fuck.

After Art puts the condoms, Astroglide and a hand towel from the bathroom on the night stand next to our wallets, watches and spare change, we undress and take a few minutes to arrange our clothes neatly so that nothing gets too wrinkled. I keep thinking he's got to be ex-military of some kind as I watch his lean, muscular arms and strong hands arranging his Jeans over the chair back. Most guys I've been with just toss their clothes all over the fucking place. I get my answer to the 'is he or isn't he' military question however as soon as he's standing naked before me.

"Navy," I state, indicating the anchor tattoo and the letters 'USN' under it on his bicep.

"Ex," he replies, staring at my groin. I know he's not looking at just my cock.

"Marines," I reply gesturing toward the short row of bullet hole shaped scars that rides low on my groin. "Vietnam."

He nods and looks up into my eyes. I can see the understanding there, the sympathy for me. I don't want pity right now though...shit...I don't want to really think about Nam right now at all. His eyes hold mine as if he's searching my thoughts through them. He comes out with a low whistle.

"Blow me," he says when the sound fades out. Then he starts to smile and it makes those laugh lines around his eyes crinkle in mirth. 

For a second what he said doesn't register and then I laugh like hell. It was the perfect retort to get my mind away from a place I really didn't want to go.

"Come here," I rumble, stretching out my hand.

He's in my arms then; his freckled skin warm and inviting to my touch as I lay my hands on his ass and pull him close.

"Christ...you *must* work out," he says with admiration as his hands sweep down my lats and over my butt. "You're like a fucking rock."

"I box...lift weights. At my age you have to keep after the flab or it gets you," I reply, pushing my crotch into his. We rock gently together then, rubbing our hardening dicks between us.

"Your age? You don't look that old," he whispers hoarsely against my ear. His breath is picking up as I knead his ass.

I chuckle.

"I'll take the compliment. And you've got nothing to be ashamed about here either," I reply, running my hands appreciatively over his strong ass muscles and up his well-developed back.

"Yeah, I do some time in the weight room," he admits. "I like to swim too...that's one thing I got from the Navy at least."

Then he kisses my neck and ends up running his mouth over to mine. This kiss isn't that gentle, it's much more urgent and I feel one of his hands reach down between us and take my cock. His lips slide off my mouth and he glances down as I gasp a little.

"I've never had an uncircumcised cock before," he smiles, running his thumb along my foreskin.

I reach down and twirl some of his pubic hair around my fingers.

"Yeah? Well, I've never had a real red head before," I chuckle.

He laughs and strokes my cock. It's hardening further and he watches in fascination as the foreskin pulls back and the glans shows beyond it. Some drops of pre-cum appear at the tip and he runs those over the head.

"God...that feels good," I huff. He looks into my face again and then leans in for another kiss. This time I take his head in my hands and kiss him hard enough to suck the air out of his lungs. His hand falls off my cock but I don't care...tasting him is just as fantastic as I knew it would be and I don't need the friction right now to make my cock throb.

When we break apart I rumble in his ear.

"How do you want it, Art? Let me know...I like to play fair."

"I think I'd like to feel this in me," he replies, pumping my cock again with sure strokes of his wrist.

"Lie down then."

I smile and tilt my head toward the bed.

We lay together facing each other and kiss some more. I don't mind foreplay at all...it's part of the experience. Some guys just want to get to the fucking but shit...that's not always possible when you're older. You need a little more time and attention to get it up and I appreciate it when someone likes to take the time to make sure I'm as ready as they are.

And Art's more than happy to oblige, running his hands over me, sucking and twisting my nipples, continuing the handwork on my erection. Finally I gently push him onto his back and give him the attention he deserves too. I'm excited to see he's not going to be quiet and just lie there...he's a 'groaner' and he likes to move. Before long he's moaning and twisting under my hands and mouth and when I trail my lips down between his legs, he arches his hips off the bed.

"Oh yeah," he hisses, craning his neck to watch me nuzzle his cock.

He has a nice sized hard-on, long and elegant with a well-veined shaft that's a little freckled. The head's swollen and weeping for me as I tongue the slit, savoring his pre-cum.

"Jesus, Walt. Just suck me," he chuckles rising up on his elbows.

I laugh and then place my mouth over the tip of his warm, red glans. I've had a lot of practice at this...I take him right down to his balls in one long slide.

"Fuck...that's good," he pants, rolling his head back against the headboard.

He's silent then, breathing hard as I pull my lips back up to his glans and then place my fist around the shaft. I suck and pump at the same time and his hips rock into me as I get him completely up. I massage his balls a little too for good measure and he moans loudly in appreciation.

By the time I'm done between his legs and reaching for the condom and Astroglide we're both panting.

"Face up," he says, laying his hand on my forearm as I tear the condom packet open. "I'd like to see your face."

"Yeah...I'd like to see your face too."

He helps me to roll the condom down my erection.

"I bet that feels good when the foreskin moves over the head doesn't it?" Art asks, indicating my latex clad erection with his chin. He lies back and puts his knees up.

"Oh yeah," I chuckle, kneeling in between his legs.

"Yeah...I thought so. Makes me want to go back and kick the ass of the doctor who circumcised me," he chuckles.

"Really?" I ask, bending forward. I mouth the head of his cock and then suck it into my mouth again. He gasps as my mouth moves down the shaft.

"Christ...maybe not," he groans, thrusting his hips against my face.

Finally I let him go and he flops back. 

"Damn," he laughs and then I laugh too.

"Hand me the Astroglide." 

He fishes over on the nightstand, snags the bottle and tosses it to me. The hand towel follows and I grab it out of the air too.

"I don't need a lot of prep," he informs me as he lifts his legs up and grips the back of his thighs.

He's right; I just probe briefly with a couple of well-lubed fingers and find he's relaxed and ready for me. I lube up my cock and then wipe my hands. Art helps me put his legs over my shoulders.

"I'll go slow anyway," I warn him and he nods, smiling at me. His eyes are heavy lidded and his mouth half open as I place my cock at his anus and work the head in a little. With a slow, steady thrust I push inside him. He breathes easily, grunting only once as I pop past his sphincter and my balls come to rest against his ass.

We lay there for a moment. I stroke his hips and slide my hands up and down his thighs.

"Oh man..." he sighs.

"You ok?"

"Oh yeah...you feel great," he replies touching my hands and stopping them on his muscular thighs.

"So do you. You're really hot and tight."

His rectum spasms around me and I grimace with pleasure. He chuckles and wiggles a little under me.

"Jesus," I gasp. He laughs and rubs my hands.

"You've got a fantastic cock," he pants, "No wonder it's tight in there...you're fucking huge."

I grit my teeth and hiss out my reply.

"You really got me up, lover."

"Fuck me," he says, licking his lips.

"With pleasure," I reply, taking his hips. 

I backthrust a little, just enough so I can look down and see part of my cock slide out of him and then I thrust forward. Back...and then forward again. I love watching this, seeing my erection moving in and out of my lover's body.

He grunts and I look up. He's watching my cock sliding in and out as well.

"Good?" I ask, panting a little harder.

He smiles and nods, rocking with me as I repeat the movement. Soon we're moving together smoothly and I keep the pace slow at first so we can get accustomed to each other and savor the experience of a nice, slow fuck. 

"Oh God!" Art groans, chuckling at the end of his exclamation as I reach forward and wrap my fist around his straining hard-on. "I'm not gonna last, buddy," he chokes out, arching up under me as I start to crank him.

I pump my hips again and laugh a little myself.

"That's ok, man...just go for it, enjoy the ride."

His eyes go out of focus for a moment and I speed up both my hips and my hand and in a few short minutes I can feel his balls tighten up next to mine. 

"That's it, babe," I whisper and he looks me right in the face. His eyes are focused now...on me. Christ...he's fucking beautiful, I think as his face starts to twist in ecstasy. His body shudders and then he cries out. 

"GOD!" 

Art's hands fist up on the bedspread and all his muscles grow taut as semen rockets out of his cock. His cum spurts up onto his stomach in one milky thread after another and he grunts with each spurt I pump out of him. 

"Beautiful," I breathe as we rock quickly together. Finally he's running on empty and coming down off his orgasm as well. I take my hand off his cock and grip both his hips again.

"Come," he gasps, clutching at my hands and urging me forward with his hips. I nod and thrust rapidly into his ass. Even with the condom, I'm close and after only a few more quick bucks I feel my own climax growing in my groin and balls.

"Damn...you're extraordinary," he gasps and that's about all she wrote for me. An orgasmic spasm so powerful it almost makes me black out slams out of my balls and I roar in unrestrained joy.

"Holy hell," Art laughs in pleasure. "Do it." 

For a few blissful moments I'm completely fuck blind, my back arched and my mouth open on one long, drawn out groan as my hips rock against Art's ass. My cock pulses, emptying semen into the condom and all too soon I come back to the real world and sag forward, spent, onto Art's trembling legs.

"Fuck, Walt...you looked like...I don't know...a living Rodin statue for a minute there. You were some sight," Art coughs, still a bit breathless. I shake my head and struggle to laugh but the best I can do is wheeze. That brings another laugh from Art. "You want to pull out and lie down?"

I finally manage to gasp an answer.

"Yeah."

xXx

The room is quiet and lit only by the weak beam of the bathroom light where it shines through the partially open bathroom door. Both of us are clean since we've showered and the bedding is turned down so we can lie together again under the covers.

"Stay," Art whispers.

My eyes are heavy and I'm struggling not to fall asleep.

"I don't think that's a problem...I'm whacked."

"I mean in the morning," he replies, running his hand through my chest hair. "I just thought...maybe you'd like to have breakfast."

It doesn't even take me a second to realize that his suggestion sounds like something I'd very much like to do. Maybe it's the post-coital haze but spending some more time with Art has an appeal my orgasm-satiated brain doesn't want to analyze. I just want to do it and I reply accordingly. 

"Brunch?" 

I can feel him smile against my pectoral.

"Deal."

"But I'm buying," I insist. "After that incredible fuck it's the least I can do."

He chuckles and then lays silent. I think he's fallen asleep so I start to drift off myself. His sleep filled voice pulls me back from the brink.

"Can I ask you something?" His voice is soft and somewhat hesitant.

"Sure."

"Is your name really Walt?"

I feel something stab through me then...a sharp arrow of warm regard for Art. He's trying to cover his vulnerability, but I can tell from the sound of his voice that he's very unsure of himself. I think he hasn't been cruising the bars very much at all. I would bet that split with is ex was more painful then he's letting on and he's just getting back in the saddle. He doesn't want to get hurt...and I can understand his fear there.

"Yeah...but to be honest...people usually call me Walter most of the time. You can use either though. I don't mind...really."

I feel him shift next to me and he looks up into my face.

"Arthur's my middle name, Walter. I...I use it professionally only. My first name is Charles and a lot of people call me Charlie. You can call me whatever you feel comfortable with too. I hope you don't mind that I didn't tell you that to begin with. It's just..."

I lay my hand on his back and stroke it and he stops speaking.

"No...It's ok, I understand. It's not like I haven't been in this position before. I know the drill. Don't worry about it."

We stare at each other and understanding does pass between us. He nods and shifts again, this time rolling onto his side. I roll as well, spooning up behind him. My arm slides naturally around his middle and I draw him closer to me. I stroke through his sparse, red chest hair and my hand ends up resting comfortably on his stomach. He snuggles back against me and gets his ass comfortable against my flaccid dick.

"Thanks, Walter," he sighs, his voice fuzzy. 

"Thank *you*, Charles. See you in the morning."

As I drift off to sleep I consider how good this feels, to hold someone in my arms...to stay, and know I'm looking forward to having breakfast with a lover. My last thoughts are of the look on Charles' face as he came and how much I could get used to helping him look that way. How much I'd like seeing that face lost in pleasure again...and maybe just not in the morning.

-END OF PART 2-

 

* * *

 

Red Rover - Part 3  
by Char Chaffin  


The morning sex was especially warm and tender. I woke up first, feeling this furnace in back of me. Hot hard flesh everywhere; for a minute I forgot where I was and wondered about the heat. Then the muscular arm around my hips tightened, and I remembered. Last night... Walt. We picked each other up in a bar. We danced and drank and came back to my hotel and talked and made love.

Jesus did we ever.

We didn't fuck. I've been fucked before; last night wasn't it. Last night I got loved, and there's all the difference in the world, believe me. In my human experience love is a thousand times better, if you can find it. And it's only the morning after - I know this - but last night wasn't about fucking.

I pressed back into Walt's heat; wanting him to know I was awake and aware - and welcoming, if he was. Apparently he was on the same page because his hand slipped down and found me, already starting to tighten up from just the tactile feel of him behind me, hard flesh growing against my ass with every breath we both took. It was so good... warm bed on a sunny morning with nothing better to do than touch and learn each other all over again.

My favorite kind of mornings...

I didn't turn and face him; somehow this was better than face-to-face intimacy. I curled my hand behind and between us and wrapped my fingers around his erection, as big and steely as it had been last night. Shit, this man was phenomenal. I have dealt with some large cocks in my life, and I can tell you size is only a part of it. My hands remembered the shape and the pure power of him; silk over marble. Perfectly fashioned, with two perfect, heavy accompanying balls. I closed my eyes and saw the entire package in my mind as I stroked Walt and felt his big hand tremble as he in turn stroked me. I ran the soles of my feet over his calves and up under his knees, hooking us together, and the growling rumble of approval he sent into the back of my neck shot shivers over me. He pulled me back tightly, trapping my hand - never missing a stroke. His tongue slipped over the sensitive skin behind my ears and I felt his teeth bite down into my carotid artery. His other hand toyed with my nipples until I thought I'd go out of my fucking mind. 

Harder, faster, longer stroking, both of us pushing it, yet I felt as if I had all the time in the world to love him. My entire body was one long shudder and he hadn't kissed me yet. And I debated whether or not I wanted to come this way; thinking it should feel so damn impersonal... and yet it didn't. Walt made it personal with every lick and bite he placed upon my skin as his hand pumped me, and his body burned against mine. I could feel it coming up, building deep within. Not the explosion of last night, and that was just fine... this would be one slow stream of good, I knew. I was gonna come forever... 

I loved the tenderness of it as much as I'd loved the way I'd been done last night. I turned my head on the pillow and caught Walt's mouth with mine, a little awkward but I managed to get most of his lips and all of his tongue on the first try. We kissed with a frenzy that belied the easy fondling of each other's bodies. The contrast between those desperate, biting kisses and our sensually slow handwork was not to be believed...and I couldn't hold it any longer; every muscle in my body tensed as I shuddered into Walt's big hand. He never missed a beat; kept up the long strokes, until I was pouring into his palm and my yell of release got swallowed up by his open, gasping kiss. Until I was spent and drained... And when I mustered enough energy to resume doing him, this time harder, and faster - I ground my ass against my hand, which shoved him hard between my cheeks, and the twin whammy made him explode. He tore his mouth from mine and sank his teeth into my shoulder as he spurted hot and thick, all over me... I wanted to bathe in it... So beautiful.

What a way to awaken in the morning!

Now I'm on my way out to see the family, and I can't stop thinking about this fabulous man. We had a leisurely breakfast and an even more leisurely shower together. We talked a little and touched a lot while we ate; didn't seem all that important to re-hash the night. We both knew it was good - and we both accepted the very solid probability of another night of it - tonight as a matter of fact. We're both too old to play coy games. I want this man. If it means a lessening of the family thing while I'm in town then so be it. 

After Walt left I spent some time sprawled in the mussed up bed, dive-bombing my nose into the pillow he'd used and just rolling in the scent he'd left on the sheets. I thought about the way his body had felt against mine when he was driving into me with all that tender power. He could have broken me in half... and I found myself groaning at the thought of being reamed like that, by someone with that much tender power.

Jesus...

Now I'm glad we didn't get into anything heavier than a dual hand-job this morning - both of us choosing to save it for tonight. And I am trying with great success not to feel guilty at the small amount of time I'll be spending with my family; between running to the galleries and being with Walt, my sister and mother are gonna take a back seat.

Priorities, you know. Hey, I got put through the same paces when Sis and her significant other were first into it hot and heavy. They kept it quiet for a very long time, and because of job constraints and such she never came out to see me. I understand all about keeping a relationship quiet... been there and done that. So I didn't meet this man until I came all the way out here and visited her first. Nice guy. At the time I had no idea they were getting into it that way; they acted like nothing more than good friends but I could tell his attention was elsewhere. If I'd met him under different circumstances and he was free, I'd have been tempted. There's something about him... I can understand my sister's passion for the man.

But Walt is completely different - and I find myself attracted, fiercely attracted. He's got everything I've been searching for. This is the part of the connection that I find the most exciting. The getting to know each other and the hesitancy - 'the learning curve' would be a good way to see it. I usually jump into this particular dance eagerly, with both feet. And after a few dates and a few sessions of relatively mind-blowing sex, I find I don't want to dance anymore. 

I danced with Ray longer than anyone, I guess. We were together for three years and I had myself convinced it was love. It wasn't. Our break was relatively amicable and once in awhile I get email from him. I usually don't bother answering... I needed a clean break and that's what worked out the best for me. It's been hard finding the courage and the self-confidence to get back out into circulation again - and when I do, I hit paydirt. I find myself grinning from ear to ear as I drive the final few miles to my destination. I could dance with Walt, a lot. Hell, I could do the fucking lambada from here to eternity with that body and those hands -and those lips. Just thinking about it makes my grin widen and my body tighten to the point of actual pain...

Fifteen minutes later I knock on the door of my sister's apartment, anxious to see her and to get to know her guy a little better. They came out of the closet too, so to speak; nobody at their office knew they were a couple. I don't see why it was such a big deal; but then again I have always prided myself on being a free spirit - even around my family.

Granted, it took a lot of balls to tell my family I was gay.

I was a Navy brat, growing up; my dad was a hell of a man and the only member of the family who didn't know about me. He passed away before I could tell him. And I would have told him; I loved him too much to lie and he taught me never to deny the person I was. My oldest sister knew, almost before I could tell her, but somehow it never surprised me since she was oddly psychic anyhow. She accepted me, regardless - and it's what I will always love about her the most.

My brother was the last family member I told, and it was the hardest thing I have ever had to do, even tougher than telling my mother. I had never wanted to disappoint Big Bro. He took it very well, but I think my other sister had prepared him in advance. We are very close in age and we really did cling together for much of our childhood. She used to go to bat for me all the time where our big brother was concerned, but this time I could never get her to own up to it - the feeling that she paved the way for me... 

Now she answers the door and her smile lights up and she reaches out two small hands and latches onto me; I go quite willingly. I adore my sister. Being the youngest boy in a testosterone-riddled family was never easy. My sister was my salvation more than once, when we were growing up...

"Hey, Charlie-Barley, how you be?" There's a wide smirk on her pretty face as I groan at the goofy name. Only my sister would call me by that hateful name after I threatened to beat her up if she ever used it to my face, again. I glare at her and she easily reads my mind, and laughs at me as she hugs me tightly. I curve my arms around her and snuggle her. I whisper in her little ear, "I told you if you ever called me that again you were doomed..."

She snickers into my neck and pulls back to stare at me.

"You look great, Little Brother. And I can call you anything I like - I'm older than you." 

She studies my face minutely, making me squirm. I know what she's looking for... she wants to see contentment. The same thing she always looks for when we get together. My family, all of them - they yearn for contentment. And when they find it they want everyone else to be afflicted with the same state of being. I endure the inspection, then push her away but retain hold of one hand. I look at her glowing face, and I am thrilled for her because I can see she's happy. It hasn't been easy for her; too much to go into right now but suffice to say it's been very rough these past few years. But now... I see massive amounts of happy stuff, all over her. And I 'm glad. If her guy has done this for her, given her this contentment beyond the friendship and the respect I know he's already given to her, then I'm gonna be very grateful to him... 

I swing her hand as we stand in the doorway of her apartment, toying with the idea of telling her about Walt. Wondering if I really want to get into it yet. I mean, sure she knows about my sexual preferences. But Jesus! I don't want to jinx anything. I opt for the pesky brother routine while I try and decide what to do.

"So. You gonna make me stand out here indefinitely or are you gonna let me come in?" She grins again and pulls me inside, calling over her shoulder to the man lounging on the sofa just barely visible from the hall foyer.

"Mulder! Charlie's here!"

-END OF PART 3-

 

* * *

 

Red Rover - Part 4  
by Paige Caldwell  


Staying the night with Charles was not a problem. Leaving him the next morning was. Shit, there's nothing worse than a goodbye salute when my cock is still at full mast. The strain of my erection is almost as compelling as my curiosity. Natural urges.... of body... of mind. both are equally capable of getting me into trouble. And God, I'm in trouble...in over my head, as the saying goes.

This man is everything I want and everything I fear. I never expected to find this contradiction in a one-night stand. I went to that bar looking to scratch an itch, not to turn a momentary irritation into a full fledged rash. And, now my skin is inflamed. I can still feel his warm, freckled skin pressing against mine...sending pinpoints of pleasure racing through every nerve ending.

But, there's something else, a sudden alertness to my senses that makes me acutely aware of my vulnerability. Some might call it paranoia, but experience has taught me that unrestrained passion doesn't come without a price. And, before I surrender to the cost, I had better make sure it's worth it. I have much to lose. Dirt under my nails could ruin my career.

If anything, the English gentleman taught me how to manicure discretion.

So I follow Charles, justifying that caution must outweigh trust. I take a cab back to the Hoover and park unobtrusively in the parking garage of the Hilton. I lurk there, my black clothes camouflaging me in the semi-darkness. He doesn't see me and for a moment I curse the same nature that protects me. Fuck, what they say is true. The heart is a lonely hunter. And now I'm prowling in the shadows like a panther trailing an unsuspecting prey.

Once he exits the garage in his rental car I'm racing towards mine. Inside I pull my FBI badge out from the glove compartment, holding it in one hand as the other jerks the steering wheel. I need a reminder why I'm in full chase of a man who offered me his ass and didn't demand mine in return. I need something tangible to steel my resolve against the memory of blue eyes.

God! Those eyes.... so blue...intense and compelling... I've seen those eyes before. Somewhere lost in the jungle of my subconscious, staring at me through the thick. Challenging me to do more...shaming me for being less...

This is fucking ridiculous.

I'm tempted to slam my brakes and come to a full stop. But, then Charles turns down a road I least expect. A street with a name I don't remember, but leading to an apartment I can never forget. Scully's apartment. Shit, this can't be a coincidence, can it? A joke, maybe. A set-up by two agents who feel fucked over by a supervisor who straddled the fence. Maybe, they decided it was time for my balls to get in on the act.

No... Despite Mulder's warped sense of humor, he's a decent man. And Scully would never permit it. She is one of the most ethical people I know. Sure, I've failed her...failed them both. Judas had black eyes, remember? I turned salvation into a profanity. But, rather than hang myself from the nearest tree, I hid betrayal behind a pair of wire-rim glasses and a few selfless acts. Granted, I tried to help them, but I wasn't about to martyr myself over a lost cause or sacrifice my job over a pair of indelible blue eyes.

Blue eyes....

As Charles enters the apartment building, I realize the other similarities. His red hair, his certain and straightforward gait. His tattoo...the navy...his attempt to cover up his vulnerability....

Christ, his unusual taste in lovers.

I sit in my car, stunned and horrified. I can feel a cold sweat baptizing me with the truth of my damnation. God, in His infinite wisdom, has found a way to crucify me for the sins of my past.

Charles Scully.

A man I could love, but better forget...or, as the English Gentleman often said "best to wash your hands of it". And, I'm his disciple, right?

-END OF PART 4-

 

* * *

 

Red Rover - Part 5   
By Shelby Parker  


I'll admit it, I was nervous as hell for my two favorite men to finally meet. But, neither not because of Mulder's extreme ideas nor because of Charlie's "alternative" lifestyle - if anything, I knew that would draw them closer together.

My fears were purely selfish. They both knew me so well, yet so very differently.

Charlie is my confidant; he has never judged me for my weaknesses and indiscretions. Instead, he provides me with a strong shoulder and a reminder that I, too, am human.

Mulder, on the other hand: I'm still learning how to share myself with him, to let my guard down and give back to him everything he has given to me. But somehow, some way, I fear that down the line I will fail him, so I hide. A part of me thought that becoming lovers would bridge my insecurities. Don't get me wrong - it has made me a lot happier than I ever thought I could be, but still, I hold back. I want so desperately to change that, and perhaps that is why I caved and gave the green light to this meeting of minds.

Now I watch them, my men, sitting on the couch wrapped up in March Madness and Final Four fury and I can't help but smile. Charlie is making dunking gestures and Mulder's head bobs in agreement and I know this is "right." Sensing my stare, Mulder looks up and flashes me that killer smile of his and my smile can't help but grow in return. I could get used to this. Smiling for the sheer joy of it. Hell, I think Mulder and I have more than earned it.

Charlie clears his throat startling me out of my reverie. "Too much coffee, I'll be right back," he says, making a beeline for the bathroom. On his way he looks over at me and winks, letting me know that he likes Mulder that this is going to be okay. 

I look back over at Mulder and beckon him to me with a tilt of my head. He is still wearing his smile as he approaches me, wrapping me up in his arms.

"Thank you," I whisper into the crook of his neck, my lips brushing against his soft, warm skin. 

He leans back, looking quizzically at me while he pushes my wayward hair behind my ear. "For what? Meeting your brother? I had no doubt that I'd like Charlie, Scully," he replies earnestly.

"Oh really? And how were you so sure?" I ask, honestly wanting to know.

He pauses a second and traces my cheekbone lightly with the plump pad of his index finger. "Because, when you talked about him, your face relaxes and you get that smile on your face. How could I not like him? Bill, on the other hand..."

I squeeze my arms around him playfully as I utter a long "Mulldeerrr." I know he's only half kidding. While I love Bill and I know he loves me, our relationship has never been ideal. But that is not a topic I'm willing to delve into right now. "Be nice," I warn.

"I'm always nice, Scully." As to emphasize the point, his finger traces down my neck stopping to trace my collarbone. "Maybe after dinner, I'll show you just how nice I can be."

I feel my face flush a bit, knowing intimately how good Mulder's version of "nice" can be. "Mulder, not -" 

He erases any protest I may have at his timing when his lips brush mine. My first reaction - (okay, make that my second reaction--I am only human) - is to pull away. Not only is my brother in the other room, but I still have yet to overcome my anxieties of public affection. But instead I shock him by nipping softly at his lower lip, then soothing it with the tip of my tongue. His hand grips the back of my head and he deepens the kiss and I know I am a lost woman.

"Get a room, would ya?"

Oh, baby brother what wonderful timing you have.

I can feel rather than hear Mulder's laugher as it bubbles against my lips. I push him away, but only after one last chaste kiss.

"'Come stay with me,' she says. 'You'll feel right at home,' she says. "Yeah, right. I'm here for all of an hour and a half and I what am I subjected to? Public displays of affection.I'm young and impressionable, you know," Charlie mutters playfully under his breath as he makes his way back to the couch.

"Young and impressionable? You?" I tease back.

"Well, relatively young," he answers with a smirk. "So, what's on the agenda, or is this the only brand of entertainment you plan to afford, because if it is, I have to say that I've managed to stay therapy free for 33 years and I see no reason to break my streak."

"Okay, smartass, enough out of you, I thought we would leave the day open, maybe catch a movie and grab lunch. Maybe just relax?"

Suddenly the room is silent; I look from Mulder to Charlie and back again.

"What? I can be spontaneous," I protest.

Both of them look at me and mutter "Yeah, right" like a pair of DoubleMint twins on acid.

"I can."

"Of course you can," Mulder says semi-sincerely as he releases me and walks to the coffee table to pick up the paper. Knowing that I've already scanned it the night before and marked events in advance, I quickly grab it out of his hand.

"Let me run out to the box and get today's paper, I didn't notice anything when I skimmed it last night," I try to say nonchalantly.

Mulder and Charlie exchange looks, but have the grace to let it pass. I take the paper with me as I head outside to the mailbox. Best laid plans, my ass.

Before I can contemplate a new plan am I stopped in my tracks by the sight of a very familiar car parked beside my own. 

Skinner.

And he doesn't look like a very pleased Skinner at the moment. He is not facing me, but I can see from here that the grip he has on the steering wheel is feral.

Then it hits me.

Mulder.

Mulder and I kissing. in my living room, right by the window.son of a bitch.

In an instant I go from being proud of my openness to wanting to kick myself in the ass because of it. Taking in a deep breath I quickly weigh my options. I can either walk back in there, tell Mulder that we are in for trouble, or I can try and fix it.

My resolve is made when Skinner suddenly looks sharply in my direction. His brow creases and for a moment, I swear to God he looks hurt, but that look is quickly replaced with anger. Suddenly his car jerks into reverse and he is off like a shot.

He can run all he wants but he can't hide.

I won't give Mulder up, not now or ever.

Walter Skinner, prepare yourself. You're in for one hell of fight.

xXx

What can I say? I panicked. I sat there, clutching the wheel, mentally willing this to all be a bad dream, when I felt the short hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I was being watched.

I turned to find the source and immediately found myself locking eyes with a very pissed-off Dana Scully.

So much for keeping my personal life personal...Christ on a crutch, what else could I do but throw my car into drive and get the hell outta dodge?

I don't know what I fear more: the damage this could do to my career or the prospect of never seeing Charles again.

"Fuck me." I knew this was a no-win situation. I may as well drive back and hand in my resignation now. Even if Mulder and Scully maintain their discretion, how will I ever look her in the eye again? Or worse yet, what if she knew, like this was some sort of game?

"Trust no one" doesn't apply strictly to those in the basement. It's been my personal credo for quite some time.

It was just too good to last. Charles was too good to be true.

As I make my way to the Hoover, I pledge to myself that I will never cruise again, that I will not let myself get attached again, that I will forget every moment that I've had with Charles Scully and stop this before it gets totally out of control.

And I know as I say the words in my head that I'm lying. I've already fallen. I just pray the fall doesn't kill me.

xXx

"Change of plans, gentlemen!" Scully says, a little to brightly for my liking. "I think it's time that I showed my little brother where we work."

I can't help but look at her as if she has grown two heads. She must have sensed it because I get the look of death.

"Is there a problem with that, Mulder?" The smile is still on her face, but her eyes looked a little too shiny.

"The Hoover, Scully? Really?" I looked over at Charlie, hoping for reinforcement and found just a blank stare in return. Thanks, buddy, I'll make sure we stop off at Hooters for lunch while we're at it.

"Yes, really, Mulder. Let me get my jacket and I'll be ready." Again, too chipper, so anti-Scully, and she looks nervous.

Charles takes this golden opportunity to speak. "What happened to relaxation?" he asks me in a whisper.

"Beats the hell out of me, but if we are wise - "

"We'll go with it," he finishes for me.

"Amen to that."

-END OF PART 5-

 

* * *

 

Red Rover - Part 6  
by Avalon  


The Hoover Building is nearly deserted when we arrive, which is not unusual for a weekend afternoon. The obligatory staff is here, and the security guards smile at Scully and me in recognition as we approach the desk with Charlie in tow. They are used to seeing me on Saturdays and even Sundays, often dragging my petite partner behind me. 

"Agents Mulder and Scully," one man, Clyde, calls to us, a big grin on his dark face. "Don't you two ever take a day off?"

"No rest for the wicked, my friend," I tell him. Scully doesn't even crack one of her half-hearted smiles. Something is definitely up with her, but I don't ask now, especially in front of Charlie and the security guards. 

But Clyde doesn't know Scully very well, and he doesn't notice the mood she is in. "Agent Scully, why do you let this partner of yours talk you into working on the weekends? Why don't you make him take you out for a nice dinner instead?"

For a moment, the glare that Scully gives him makes me think she is about to take his head off. But then she seems to come out of it, and she manages a tight-lipped smile. "You're right, Clyde. I'll have to try to do that sometime soon." She tugs Charlie forward by the sleeve of his jacket. "This is my brother Charlie. He's visiting from out of town. We're actually here to show him around the building."

"Well, at least you're not here to work. That's something, isn't it?"

Clyde grabs his clipboard and a Visitor's Pass for Charlie. "Sign in, please, sir." Charlie fills out the information quickly, and Scully clips the tag onto the lapel of his leather jacket. "You all have a good time. And Mr. Scully?"

"Yes?" Charlie answers, a little surprised to be addressed.

"Don't let them talk you into doing any research or anything for them while you're here. These two, they're workaholics."

Charlie laughs, a sound so similar to Scully's that it is hard for me not to stare at him. "Well, it's nice to know my sister hasn't changed, at least in that department." I wave at Clyde as we walk off, Scully and Charlie ahead of me.

I am busy clipping my own I.D. onto my jacket when Scully abruptly stops in the middle of the hallway. "Mulder, why don't you take Charlie downstairs and show him the shooting range?"

I can't help but be puzzled. The shooting range? What is she up to? 

"O-o-kay," I stammer. "But are you sure Charlie is really interested in that?"

"Charlie is an excellent shot. Has been since we were kids."

Charlie makes a dismissive gesture with his hand.

"Yeah, well, maybe. But I wouldn't go hunting with Dad because I refused to kill anything. Bill was the hunter in our family."

"Great!" Scully exclaims, as if she has just made some incredible scientific discovery. 

"Then it's settled. You guys go have some target practice."

"And where will you be, Scully?" I ask, still confused by all of this. 

"I just remembered some work I left on my desk on Friday that needs to be filed. Kersh will have my head on a platter if I don't get it in. I won't be long." 

She is already walking backwards down the hallway toward the elevators for that wing of the building.

"I'll meet you at the range in just a little while."

Before I can say anything more, she has disappeared behind the corner. Charlie lets out a puff of breath.

"She's acting bizarre, isn't she?"

He looks at me for confirmation. 

I nod silently. Scully is very adept at hiding her feelings, but she is a rotten liar. She always has been. I know there is something here she is not telling me, something that happened in the few minutes between our kiss in her apartment and her going outside to retrieve the newspaper. I have no earthly idea what it could be though, and the thought of it all is starting to make my head ache. In fact, I am beginning to think shooting at something will be a welcome diversion.

"Well, maybe she just wants us to have a male bonding moment." 

Charlie's voice breaks into my reverie and I turn to look at him. His eyes have the same sparkle that jumps in his sister's when she is amused and I feel a smile breaking on my face.

"Maybe. Come on, then. Let's see how good of a shot you really are."

******

Mulder is suspicious, I know. After this many years I can read him like a book, even though he plastered one of his patented blank looks on his face. But he is respectful enough not to ask in front of Charlie and it makes me thankful that I have such a discreet partner. It's not that I wouldn't tell him; I probably will when it's all said and done.

After all, it involves him just as much as me. We are in this together. But for now I want to handle Skinner on my own, and I need to keep Mulder and Charlie occupied so I can take care of business.

I ride the elevator up to the floor of Skinner's office, somehow knowing that he is here in the building. I don't give a lot of credence to psychic phenomena and intuition, but there is something to be said for following a hunch. Mulder is much better at it than I am, but I have had my share of impressions that have turned out to be right. It only makes sense to me that Skinner would scamper off to his office, possibly to start filing a disciplinary report concerning Mulder and me.

Just the thought of Skinner betraying us like this is enough to make my head spin and my chest clutch. We have come so far with him, been through so much, and I thought we had finally reached a plateau of understanding and trust. There was a time not too long ago when I wouldn't have trusted him. When I was dying I was sure he was working against us, possibly even privy to information about a cure for my cancer. But Mulder convinced me that Skinner could be trusted and afterwards I understood that I had been wrong. I know that Skinner is in an awkward position, having to play both sides of a line that he did not draw for himself. And who knows what kind of hold the Powers That Be have over him? I have never asked him, and he would certainly never tell me. But I cannot, will not, allow him to ruin all our work on the X-Files over something like this. 

I was scared this might happen. I finally admitted to myself that I love Mulder, that I need him in my life on every possible level including a physical one. The one thing that continued to hold me back for so long was the idea that they would use our relationship against us. They tried so many times to split us up, to detour us, to break us in so many ways. They only succeeded in making us stronger and more determined. But ultimately I became tired of denying my own happiness. Finally having Mulder in every sense of that phrase makes me happier than I ever thought I could be. And now to have it all threatened again--and by a man I thought we could trust--is more painful and terrible than I can believe.

I don't even know what I will say to him when I find him. But I know it won't be pretty.

******

I am hiding in my office again. I can't believe how often I come here to hide. It has become a habit for me, a strange refuge that even my apartment cannot seem to offer me. Surrounded by dark wood and leather and chrome, I feel almost invincible. I have worked damn hard to get to this office and the atmosphere comforts me, reminds me of the sacrifices I have made to come so far. It also reminds me that I am a force to be reckoned with, at least within this building. I don't feel that way at the moment; my night with Charles and subsequent discovery about him have left me more vulnerable than I care to admit.

I sit in my massive leather chair breathing in the scent of papers and copy machine ink, trying to think, trying to allow this environment to comfort me again. It's not working this time. 

She saw me. Dana Scully saw me and she knows.

Well, I can't be sure that she knows, but she is a smart woman. Brilliant, even. I have long admired her ability to put together a puzzle, her analytical mind a superb counterpart to Mulder's intuitive one. Together, they are a force to be reckoned with as I have realized on countless occasions. The idea that Scully couldn't put two and two together about Charles and myself is ridiculous. Why in the hell else would I be sitting in front of her apartment watching her brother?

A part of my mind tries to soothe me. It tries to tell me that maybe it's not so terrible that she knows. She is his sister, after all, and I have been privy to Scully's sensitive side. She is a loving, caring woman and she has a fierce loyalty to her family. She must know by now that her brother is gay. Perhaps she will be able to accept that he and I.

The other voice in my brain kicks in, grinding its heel into my face like my old Marine drill sergeant. She may be able to accept her brother, but it is doubtful that she will be able to accept me. I have lived a shadowed life for so long, and it has taken painstaking years of working together for Mulder, Scully, and I to build what is, at best, a shaky alliance. This could be a blow to her trust, to their trust, from which we would never recover. I cannot allow that to happen. I won't allow it.

But the picture of Charles' face from this morning seeps into my mind again. So loving, so gentle, so much of what I had almost given up hope for. I have to close my eyes to try to block it out again. 

The gods have never been fair to me. Right now I know they are laughing their asses off. I don't want to have to trade one Scully for another, but it seems I have a hostage situation on my hands.

******

The door to Skinner's office is closed. I put my ear to it, trying to figure out if he is in there or not. I take a deep breath, readying myself, and reach for the doorknob. At that very moment the door flies open, and I am face to face with my former A.D.

He looks surprised and his eyes drop. He looks good, albeit a little rumpled-- almost as if he spent the night here in his clothes-casual, but upscale, and he smells especially nice. There is something familiar about his cologne. It is not the same as Mulder's, but I know I have been around it before. I push the thought aside and focus on him, all my anger and fear blossoming as I stare into his face.

He raises his eyes, and they are an intense brown. "Agent Scully," he barks, that military tone in his voice. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing, sir. Or I could ask what you were doing in front of my apartment about a half an hour ago?"

He grits his teeth. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Really? I know it was you, sir. You looked right at me. Or have you developed amnesia?" I can't believe how angry I sound. I try to pull it back a little, but I am surprised as he suddenly grabs me by the arm and yanks me into his office, slamming the door behind us.

"Keep your voice down, Scully. You never know who is listening."

I swallow, trying to keep my throat from burning. "Were you watching us, sir?"

He takes a big gulp of air, and I can tell by the slump of his shoulders that he has resigned himself to something. I hope it is the truth. 

"Yes."

His honesty rocks me back for a moment. I can almost feel tears start to prick my eyes, and I fight them doggedly. I will not let him see me cry. I won't give him that pleasure. "Why?" I force myself to ask.

"I followed him. I needed to know what he was doing."

He followed Mulder? But Mulder spent the night. Had he been sitting outside all night? That didn't make any sense. Mulder had gone out in the morning to pick up some bagels and coffee for breakfast. He would have seen Skinner the moment he walked outside, just as I had seen him. I plunge forward, ignoring the logic for a moment. "Why did you need to know? What business is it of yours?"

He shrugs. "It isn't. I'm not defending myself. But I am trying to tell you the truth."

I consider him for a moment, my mind moving fast. "Who sent you?" I say finally.

"What?" There is a note of confusion in his voice.

"Who sent you?" I demand again, my inflection rising.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Scully. No one sent me." His face is lined with confusion, and it makes me furrow my brow. I realize suddenly that we are talking in circles, and I try to calm down. But my adrenaline is racing, and I find I want to slap that look off him. 

"Just tell me why you were watching us! Why were you watching Mulder and me?"

He blinks, and a flush starts across his cheeks. "I wasn't watching you and Mulder." His voice is no louder than a whisper. "I was following Charles."

******

I watch as Mulder squeezes off the final shots of another round and presses the button to bring the target back to us. I take off the headphones and goggles, and he hands me his weapon so I can reload it.

The target waves like a flag as it comes to a stop, and I admire his work with a grin.

"That's damn good, G-man, but I think you still owe me five bucks." 

He scowls at me good-naturedly. "I'm just a little rusty. I don't get to shoot too many things."

"That's good, isn't it?"

"There are a lot of things in my life that could use a good shooting."

He smiles and I laugh. He has an ease about him that I like a great deal, and he is as handsome as the Devil himself, that's for sure.

If he weren't my sister's boyfriend I might consider making a play for him myself. But then I think of Walt and our previous night together and I reconsider. Mulder is a great guy but I'll leave him to Dana. She needs someone special in her life just as I feel I could get to need Walt.

I snap another cartridge into Mulder's gun and hand it back to him. 

"I think we should quit while I'm ahead."

"Well, you have to give me a chance to win my money back." Mulder slides the goggles and headphones he was wearing onto a nearby shelf. 

"How about a game of one-on-one basketball? I'm a terror on the court."

"Sure." We start walking back toward the doors to the shooting range.

"Is there a gym nearby?"

"We can play at the school playground near Scully's apartment. Just as soon as our little tour is over."

"Why don't you show me your office? Maybe Dana will be finishing up."

Mulder pushes the door open for me. 

"We don't have an office anymore."

The words seem to stick in his throat for a moment but then he clears it. 

"But I can take you up to our desks in the bullpen. We can see what Scully is up to. Maybe pester her into getting out of here a little quicker."

We ride the elevator up a few floors, and Mulder leads me down the deserted hallway to a large, open room stuffed full of desks. He stops in the doorway, obviously confused. 

"What's wrong?" I ask him.

"Scully's not in here." He walks over to a desk by the wall and glances around it. "Her computer isn't on. It doesn't look like she's touched a thing."

I walk over to him. The desk is neat as a pin. The nameplate on the edge declares that it's hers, all right, but there are no signs of any work being done. 

"Well, where else would she be?"

"I have an idea," he murmurs, and the way he says it sends a little shiver through me. The look on his face is haunted, and one word rockets through my mind: Spooky. Bill told me once that Spooky is Mulder's nickname at the Bureau--a derogatory one--and now, standing here with him next to my sister's abandoned desk, I almost understand why.

He turns to me. "Charlie, why don't you hang here for a minute? Let me go see if I can find Scully." Without waiting for an answer, he disappears out the door.

I consider turning on Dana's PC to see if she has any interesting games on the desktop to play but then realize I probably need her password.

Instead, I wander through the bullpen, glancing at pictures on the various desks, eyeing the surroundings. Near the far wall is a glass case and I go to it absently. It is filled with trophies for various FBI team sports as well as commendations for an assortment of agents. I am just about to turn away when one picture catches my eyes, and I lean forward to get a better look.

It is a newspaper clipping that has begun to yellow a little on the edges. The text declares a special commendation given to an Assistant Director of the Bureau for Meritorious Service. But I am not interested in the story. I can't tear my eyes away from the ones of the man that stare at me from the accompanying photo. They are partially obscured behind a pair of wire frame glasses, but they are the same eyes that looked at me so lovingly in bed last night. I'd know them anywhere.

Walt. Walter S. Skinner; according to the article, Assistant Director for the Federal Bureau of Investigations.

My lover. 

-END OF PART 6-

 

* * *

 

Red Rover - Part 7  
by Rae  


"Why on earth would you be following Charlie?"

I know my voice is loud and the pitch could be argued to be a screech, but I need answers. What interest would the FBI have in my baby brother?

AD Skinner just stands there looking as if he let out a secret he wasn't ready to confess to knowing. I have never seen this man so nervous. He looks as if he's ready to come apart.

"If my brother is in any trouble I have a right to know. Is *he* even aware that he was being followed?"

"Calm down, Agent Scully. Your brother isn't in any danger. As far as I know, he hasn't done anything that would warrant an investigation by the authorities."

I'm sure the confusion I'm feeling is evident in my face. But, just to be sure, I voice my concern.

"I don't understand. You just told me that you were following him."

"It's more complicated than that. I really can't get into it with you right now."

"Oh no, I think right now is a perfect time, Sir."

xXx

Scully wasn't in the lab, the copy room, or Kersh's office. I can't figure out why she'd come to the building on a Saturday while her brother is in town. Not knowing why, I wander down the hall closer to Skinner's door. 

As I walk into his secretary's office, I can hear voices rise with anger. I walk closer and realize it's Scully and Skinner. Something is going on. I can feel the tension and I'm not even in the room yet. 

We aren't under Skinner's directive anymore, so none of the pranks I pulled last week would be addressed by him. The AD must have found out about our relationship. It's the only thing I can think of that would cause this amount of grief. 

Skinner must have called Scully in to get a rational explanation for whatever it was he saw or heard. We've been so careful, though. I don't know how he could have found out. I hear Scully tell him now is the perfect time. I don't know what it's time for, but I'm pretty sure it has something to do with me. I take a deep breath and prepare myself before opening the door.

xXx

"Agent Mulder? Can I help you?"

I see Mulder's eyes dart around the room until they find Scully standing beside my desk.

"Yeah. I was just...ummmm...looking for Scully. I thought you were going to do some filing."

Mulder moves closer to his partner and I see them start to converse with their eyes. This has always bugged the hell out of me. They can hold an entire conversation with glances and lifted eyebrows.

"Well, I found Assistant Director Skinner and decided to do some catching up."

There it is - the eyebrow. And there's the nod from Mulder. In that three seconds, ten questions were just asked and answered between the two of them.

"I think Charlie is getting a little antsy in the bull pen. Maybe we should head on back?"

"You go ahead, Mulder. I just want to finish my

conversation with the AD. I'll meet both of you at my desk in another five minutes."

"I could just bring him up so that he can meet AD Skinner, and then we can all leave from here and maybe grab a bite to eat."

"No!"

Mulder's head snaps up when he hears both Scully and I refusing the offer in unison. As much as I'm not ready to discuss our fledgling relationship with Charlie's sister, I'm ten times more opposed to discussing it as a group. I have to get out here. 

"Today isn't a good day for me. I'm sorry, Scully, I'll have to meet your brother at another time. I have some business that I need to attend to now."

I excuse myself and flee my office. As I walk through the empty halls, my mind wanders to last night and early this morning.

We had clicked so fast. Everything had fallen into place. We were both what the other wanted. How can I give that up? But how can I not?

There sure as hell isn't any way that we can continue the way both of us want to. In order to do that we would need to tell Scully. What if she doesn't approve? How could she approve? Her younger brother and her former superior involved in a relationship? She would flip out. Rational, down to earth Scully would lose it. This can only go downhill. 

Damnit!

All I want is a partner I feel comfortable with, someone I can love, someone I can come home to at night. And yes, someone that loves me back. I felt that connection...And I'm sure that he felt it too.

I don't want to lose this man.

I want us to take long walks in a serene park. I want us to spend quiet, lazy Sundays, reading the paper in bed. I can even imagine the two of us moving in together, content with each other. I want to know that when I say goodbye in the morning there will be a kiss at the door upon my return.

I feel myself falling hard. He is beautiful. Last night was wonderful; more than I had hoped for. He knew what I wanted, what I needed, and offered himself unselfishly. After only one night I know I want more. All I've been able to think about all day was the way his body looked under mine. I can't keep the image of his sweat-slicked chest out of my mind's eye. Every time I close my fist I feel his cock pulsating in it.

There isn't anything about him that I don't want. I want to go home and wrap my lips around his penis in every possible position, take him deep until my nose is buried in his groin and then in his balls too just for variety. I want to suck him hard until I feel him swell against my throat. Then, I want to swallow his thick semen and lick him clean.

My mind continues to fantasize. I see myself agreeing to things I never would have allowed before. I want to explore territories I have always kept off limits with other lovers. I want this man to know me completely. I want to give myself entirely; to feel his cock throb and thrust inside of me. 

With other men it's always been blowjobs, hand jobs, or me pounding mercilessly into them. But with Charles, I want to feel the length of him, the strength of his erection, as he drives into me.

I want to bump and grind against one another to the beat of techno music until we are both straining hard against our jeans. I want to rush home and barely make it into the door before ripping the clothes from each other. I want fast and furious sex followed by tender, erotic lovemaking. 

I want us to fall asleep every night wrapped around each other's bodies. I want to wake up and see his head bobbing up and down on my cock. I want soft caresses and a hard body. And I want it all with him.

Such thoughts cause my dick to twitch and swell. No other person has ever had this effect on me. In less than twenty-four hours this man has filled every void within me. He has turned me into a sentimental, romantic sap. And I love every moment of it. How can I let him go?

xXx

"What was that all about, Scully?"

"Mulder, please. Not right now."

She's hiding something. Scully always clams up and goes on the defensive when she's trying to keep something from me. 

"I'm more confused than when I was standing on the other side of the door. What the hell is going on here? Does Skinner know? Talk to me!"

I see the fight go out of her. She drops her head and takes a few steps away, distancing herself from me.

"When I went out to get the paper this morning, Skinner was parked in front of my building. He took one look at me and took off like a bat out of hell. I thought he had seen us through the window. So I made up the excuse to come to the office so that I could confront him."

A shock of fear runs through me. I feel my fingers turn to ice and the hair on the back of my neck stands up straight. I love her and I'm not going to lose this woman. I have spent too much time and energy convincing her that what we have is a good thing. I'll be damned if A.D. Skinner will be the downfall of this relationship.

"Well? What did he say? Is he going to keep quiet?"

"Apparently he had been following Charlie."

"I don't get it. Why would he be following your

brother?"

"That's what I was in the middle of trying to figure out when you came in here. I never got an answer out of Skinner."

"Well, he looked upset about something. I think we had better stay out of his for now. C'mon, let's go get Charlie."

xXx

I can't believe what I've found. Walt never said

anything. I look up as I hear footsteps coming down the hall. Prepared to see Dana or Mulder, I'm completely taken aback when I see Walt come around the corner.

-END OF PART 7-

 

* * *

 

Red Rover - Part 8  
by Elizabeth L. Iacono  


It takes only second for Walt's eyes to lock onto me and he stops in the middle of the hallway. We both stand there, unsure of what to say. The look on his face tells me that he knows who my sister is, just as I'm sure the look on mine tells him I know who he is.

The hall is thankfully empty so no one can see us standing there stiff as concrete posts. I'm about to open my mouth to say something when Walt speaks first. "We can talk in here," he says and turns to walk away.

What else can I do but follow?

He leads me into a nearby conference room and I hear the click as he shuts the door, sealing us in. 

"I don't know what to say," I sigh, shoving my hands into my pockets.

"Well...that makes two of us." 

"I didn't know you were an FBI agent," I offer in an attempt to break the awkward silence. 

Walt lets out a whoosh of breath. "Didn't know you had a sister who was one either." His voice is sharp; I can tell he's getting annoyed which makes me angry as well. Before I can stop myself I blurt out:

"Does it really have to make a damn bit of difference?"

That gets his attention. His eyes drill into mine and I could swear I hear his teeth grinding together. The air is tense and crackling between us.

One wrong move...

However the teeth stop grinding and it seems that the worst is over. Walt sighs deeply and slumps forward slightly, pulling his glasses off and rubbing his eyes in a tired fashion. 

"Look...I'm sorry," he says, and I suddenly feel guilty, like I've destroyed something precious.

"I...I shouldn't have thrown that up in your face. One of the perils of being so cautious is running into a situation like this one, I guess."

I nod in response, relaxing a little. 

"I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have sounded so confrontational. And you're right, even with being cautious there's always the chance of something awkward like this happening."

Walt slides his glasses back on and looks at me.

"Look, your sister was an agent under my jurisdiction and I am also an Assistant Director of the FBI. I'm not just any old FBI agent who can blend into the woodwork of the bureaucracy."

I still can't see how this should affect us, and I find myself saying so. 

"Still, why does it matter? Why should the fact that my sister was an agent in your jurisdiction really have anything to do with our--us?" I stop myself in time from using the word 'relationship', knowing that being in the middle of FBI headquarters, even on the weekends, anyone could be eavesdropping.

Walt's jaw clenches and unclenches again and I can't help letting my mind wander, thinking he could be using that jaw for things far more pleasant.

His face is blank and neutral and I wish I could read his eyes better; maybe it would give me a clue to his thoughts. 

"If you were related to anyone else...probably not. But do you know some of the things your sister has encountered in her work? The nature of the cases?"

I shrug. 

"I know it's dangerous from what little she's told me. That doesn't really matter to me though. I'm actually ready to take a cue from Dana and not let any job, no matter how dangerous it is, get in the way of...us." Only after I say that do I realize how I've all but blown Dana and Mulder's secret relationship wide open. I can only hope that Walt is too preoccupied with our own problems to notice.

I watch him as he moves to look out the window.

"Charlie...there's dangerous and then there's *dangerous*," Walt murmurs.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't want to take the chance of you getting hurt because of this."

I move closer. I want so much to touch him, to feel his skin against mine. But I can't. Not here. Not now.

"I think I should be able to decide that for myself. For you I would take the risk."

I wish he would turn around so I could see his face, but he doesn't. He just keeps staring out the window. I shake my head ruefully. It's Murphy's Law in action. Whenever things get good somehow they have to get all fucked up to hell, leaving all of us in a mess and miserable once more. 

"Will you at least be coming back to the hotel tonight?"

A long space of time passes and the knot in my stomach keeps twisting in on itself, getting tighter and tighter. 

"Yeah," Walt says quietly. 

"It goes against everything my better judgment is telling me, but yeah. We have to talk." 

I can't help but smile slightly with the sudden relief. It seems we've weathered our first fight, even if it means that things might get worse later once we talk.

"All right...and really, I don't mind talking about any of this." I check my watch. "Oh, hell. I better get going, they're probably looking for me."

xXx

I storm through the halls, leaving Mulder to follow. I'm walking so fast even his long legs have to struggle to keep up with me for once. He knows why though. If I can't get a coherent answer from Skinner, Charlie's the next one to talk to.

We reach the bullpen and Charlie is leaning against my desk looking like he doesn't have a care in the world. I know my face doesn't look like that, especially not after combing the building, looking all over for my missing brother. He looks up and sees us and smiles, but that smile soon changes to a deer-caught-in-the-headlights look. 

"Everything okay?"

Mulder wisely lets me handle this one. 

"So do you have any idea why my boss is following you around?"

-END OF PART 8-

 

* * *

 

Red Rover - Part 9  
By ga  


"What?!" 

Leave it to Dana to cut to the chase with no buildup. She has an intense look on her face that has me scrambling to remember all of the details from my first encounter with Walt last night in the club. Even before that, I'd noticed him at the bar checking me out while I was dancing with Devon--at least I thought he was checking me out. Oh my God, what if he already knew who I was, what if he was--what do they call that?--targeting me or something? I can't honestly believe that; he seemed too sincere--Christ, the guy even gave me his real name. Could he have been investigating me and things got out of hand? First of all, I'd think you don't get to be an Assistant Director without keeping your control and doing whatever it takes. And that wasn't "things-are-getting-out-of-hand-fuck-me-now" sex. It was tough and tender and scary because it was real. But safe, because it was obviously real for him, too. It was easy in the morning, with breakfast and promises for later. No, this was about him and me; I'm sure. Almost.

I'm standing here with my mouth open and I don't know what Dana thinks I'm thinking. She says quietly, "Look, Charlie, I'm sure this is some kind of misunderstanding. But if you're in any kind of trouble--anything at all--just tell me and we'll figure it out. You know I'll take care of you, Charlie-Barley." 

Oh shit, she's worked up now if she's calling me that again. I don't know whether to be terrified or pissed off. Truth of the matter is I'm not a model citizen but if anything I've done were a federal offense, half the gay men in San Francisco would be behind bars right now. 

"Maybe he just thinks I'm cute," I say, playing the truth for a laugh--at least I think it's the truth. She has me a little scared, I have to admit. I look over at Mulder, to gauge his reaction. I'm sure Dana's told him my story but it's not like we've talked about it. He's got just the tiniest bit of an amused smile showing. Now, this guy only has eyes for my sister--I don't think most of the world even registers on him. But gaydar tells me he's not totally straight either. Then again, Dana's had a walk or two on the wild side herself--I wonder if he knows that about her? He seems like the type who wouldn't care but would be tempted to ask if there are videos.

Turning back to Dana, I continue, "I can't believe you even have to ask me that, Dana. Forget that my sister's a Fed: I have to answer to Mom, God, and the memory of the Captain. And, I'm the worst liar in the entire Scully family."

That last part gets her. 

"Look," I say, "you know you can ask me anything. But do we have to spend the entire afternoon here? I have to be at the gallery at 5:30 and I'd like to do something in my time here besides stand at your desk."

I take her hand and give it a little squeeze and finally get a smile out of her. Mulder takes her other hand and we make our way out of the building. We get as far as the parking garage when she suddenly freezes and turns toward Mulder with a look of horror.

xXx

Though I don't know the exact number, I'd guess that Dana Scully weighs not much more than a third of what I can bench-press. I probably could pick her up with one hand and throw her across the room. So how the hell does she do that?

I've been on the receiving end of the "wrath of Scully" more than once, usually in regard to some attack or perceived attack on Mulder. Obviously her response to any threat to Charles is just as swift and just as deadly. Nobody messes with someone Scully cares about and gets away alive.

Speaking of which, Charles let a comment slip referring to the nature of his sister's relationship with her partner, and from the look on his face right after, he knew he wasn't supposed to. As if I didn't know.

For the most part I stay above the gossip, but most in the Bureau have had Mulder and Scully doing it for years now. Scully all but admitted it to me herself a couple years ago--don't know if she realized it at the time or if she remembers since she and Mulder still pretend around me. Yeah, the dance is you can't tell the boss. What they don't know is the reason they're working together now under Kersh is because I insisted that they be transferred together--and it took one hell of a song and dance to get that to go through without blowing their cover. But I know they can't stand to be separated. And after what happened in New York, I don't think Kersh will chance it again either.

Anyway, at another time I might be highly amused to have confirmation of the Hoover Building's favorite rumor. But in telling me that, Charles also told me something else: he can't keep a secret. My ass is grass.

I should have kept going and left the building after I talked to Charles. I should be at the gym now, taking out my frustrations on the heavy bag. Hell, this level of frustration is what usually propels me to the club to go trolling for ass, but I'd better keep it in my pants right now--I'm in deep enough shit as it is. Besides, there's only one ass I'm interested in trolling for at the moment, and it would have to belong to a Scully.

Fuck that the dance goes both ways: the boss can't tell you, either.

Mulder's checked out my ass once or twice over the years; I've caught him looking. And it's not as though I'd have to worry about him spreading the word--nobody in the building believes a damn thing he says. 

Scully obviously accepts her brother completely, but it's a whole other ball game when it's your boss, even your former boss. It's practically like catching your parents in bed. In some ways it could make things easier between us, since the rumor mill has also had Mrs. Spooky stepping out with me from time to time. If I were straight....

One asshole actually had the nerve to ask me how she was--I nearly broke the bastard's neck. 

There's also a large difference between what she might or might not think if she knew I was homosexual and what she'd think about me being with her brother. Even with her not in my direct employ these days and he not in the Bureau at all there could be sexual-harassment issues, with the laws as in flux as they are right now. Worse yet, if it went south...she shot Mulder once.

But Charles doesn't see what the problem is. So either I'm going to have to convince him this is a bad idea, which is going to be tough since I haven't entirely convinced myself; or he's going to have to convince me to take the chance. Either way, we're in for a hell of a night.

My gym's not far from here, but my gym bag is in the trunk of my car--seems like another damn lifetime ago already. So I hit the garage, only to see the three of them standing there. Scully is talking a mile a minute to Mulder, Charles standing just a little apart from them. Before I can even think of ducking away, he looks up at me.

xXx

"Oh my God, Mulder, what if Krycek, or the Smoking Man...I know, we're not on the X-Files right now, but Skinner is, he could know something, and that hasn't stopped them from targeting us before--hell, I wasn't on the fucking X-Files when they fucking kidnapped me..."

There are certain situations under which Scully's legendary rationalism flies the coop, leaving me to contend with a crazy person. Turnabout is fair play, I suppose--she's dealt with my insanity for years now. And I treasure her for it. 

But right now...

She springs to action, turning on...I mean, to Charlie. "That's it. We are NOT taking any chances--you are moving to my place. We'll go to the hotel right now to get your things. I am not letting you out of my sight until we get to the bottom of this."

Charlie looks over at me and mouths, "Help me." I just shake my head ruefully. I'm not thrilled by the idea either--I don't think the soundproofing in Scully's bedroom is that good.

"Mulder!" My mind was still in Scully's bedroom and her voice--which is obviously not--makes me jump. 

"I'll go with Charlie to the gallery after we get him settled at my place. Get the guys on the horn, see if they can sweep the gallery before we get there, dig up anything on the owner in case there's a connection--maybe they should debug my phone again too--Charlie, what was the name of the other gallery you met with yesterday?" 

It doesn't even occur to her to give him a chance to answer the question.

"See if you can get anything on Skinner, too, or find out what those agents in the basement"--Scully will never say Diana's name if she can avoid it--"might have gotten into."

Through much of this, Charlie has been trying to get his sister's attention. After the fourth "Dana," something catches his eye, over her shoulder toward the building entrances. I follow his gaze...

xXx

There's obviously no way around it this time. With a look I try to telegraph to Charles, "We'll play this however you want," without arousing the suspicions of the king and queen of nonverbal communication. Fat chance, I know. But I'm not prepared for what I see when Charles meets my gaze.

Fear.

Shit.

What the fuck did she tell him, anyway? I keep trying to speak with my eyes, willing him to believe that the Walter he met last night is the real Walter. Out of the corner of my eye, though, I catch sight of Mulder. His eyes are narrowed and lips pursed, with just the slightest smile at the corners. He waits one beat before catching my eye.

Double shit.

-END OF PART 9-

 

* * *

 

Red Rover - Part 10  
by Rachel  


"This really isn't necessary, Dana," I say as my sister tears through the streets of DC. She is possessed...with what I'm not sure. I felt fairly sure it wasn't my safety, despite what she said. I have seen this before, when we were kids. This is definitely a pissed-off Dana. I had seen her turn it on Billy and Melissa, but never me. But,

I'm not all that sure I'm the target. I could be wrong, but I have a sneaking feeling is Walt.

"Jesus, Scully, slow down!" Mulder yells from the back seat, his hands clenching my headrest. My body swings hard against the door as she switches lanes and spins off Thomas Circle toward my hotel. In our wake, a cab lays on its horn and gives us the one finger salute. I reach down and lock my door.

"You want to drive, Mulder? Cause I can stop right here?" Scully responds as she streaks down Massachusetts Avenue.

I think we both prayed she would stop so Mulder could take the wheel. Instead she ran a red light, whipped around Dupont Circle and pulled into the driveway of my hotel.

"Just wait here," I say, as I get out of the car. "This is ridiculous but I'm going to indulge you this once, Dana. Besides, I can't wait to see Fox in his jammies," I say, winking at Mulder as I head for the hotel door.

xXx

I slide the door open. The room is dimly lit, but I can still smell Walt in the room. How had it all gone wrong? I should never have combined business with pleasure.

"Is she on to us?"

Ah, that's why I can still smell him. I reach over and flip on the lamp near the door. Walt is sitting on the bed. God, he is so hot. If only Dana had not stuck her big nose...oh well, it was too late now.

"I'm being grounded. Sorry," I say, my mouth tipping up in a half smile.

"I gathered as much. I could hear Scully from my office," Walt responds, sighing lightly.

"So, does that badge get you access anywhere?" I ask, walking over to him. He stands up. God, he is so tall and powerful.

"Anywhere but Agent Scully's apartment," he answers. "But that's okay, because I hear there's quite a slumber party going on there."

I drop my head. "So, you got that one."

"Yeah. I hope you weren't in an intelligence unit in the Navy," Walt teases. He smiles and then leans in and kisses me lightly on the lips.

"You didn't actually flash a badge to get in here, did you?"

"You gave me a key, remember? By the way, that's not very smart, you know."

"You were just so damned cute," I tease. "It seemed worth it."

"So, you're headed to Scully's?" he asks.

"She's waiting downstairs," I say as I turned to the closet. I pull my suitcase out and set it on the bed.

"Well, we'll have to make it quick, then," he answers as I pull my suit from the closet. I carefully fold it into the case. He pats the bed next to him. I shake my head. Dana is waiting and there will be hell to pay.

"Come here, Charles," he says, his voice quiet, but filled with power. It was more a command than a request.

I drop down on the bed next to him. I slide my hands under Walt's shirt. His skin is so smooth and muscular. I run my hands across his chest, wishing there was some way to continue this.

"By the way, I love you in the glasses."

Walt smiles and kisses me again. God, I love the taste of his lips against mine. My hand drops down. I can feel him growing hard against me.

I pull back. This isn't going to happen.

"So, is this it?" Walt asks. 

I drop my head. I don't want to talk right now and I sure as hell don't want to answer that question.

"Is this it?" he asks again, pulling my face up to look into his eyes.

"It has to be, doesn't it? I don't see where you're interested in making this known and my sister is discreet but not terribly rational when it comes to family. Do you see a way to get and nookie in a mine field like that?"

Walt reaches over and grabs me. His lips are on mine, his tongue probing my mouth. I sense that he is searching, searching for the answers about what the future might hold for us as well as reliving the memories of the night before. He pushes me back against the pillows and is on top of me.

I pull his belt loose and slip his zipper down. Sliding my hand in his pants, I take him in my hand.

"Did you lock the door?" Walt asks, finally breaking free from the kiss.

I respond by slipping him free of his pants and rolling him on his side. Teasing the end of his cock with my tongue, I slide my hands around and stroke his ass. It is so firm. I can't help but move my hands over it, back and forth. I feel him straining against me.

"What are doing to me, Charles?"

I reach over and took a quick drink from the glass sitting on the table.

"Scotch?"

"It was a hard day at the office."

I chuckle and lean in again. "Cum and Seagram's 7. It's my favorite cocktail." I'm not sure why I am teasing. It's a defense measure more than anything. I hadn't felt like this about anyone in a long time. "Sorry, I didn't mean to be flip...it just slipped out."

"It's okay," Walt responds. "We're both...well...a little on edge."

He rolls back against the pillow and stretches his legs out. I lean in and take him full in my mouth; I love having him fill me. He grows fuller still. I feel him arching his back further as my tongue plays with the end of his dick.

Sliding down the bed, I kneel with legs on either side of him. His hands are on my arms, my back, touching me, massaging me. I squirm slightly as he touches the sensitive spots on my side. He arches his back up as he begins to climax.

"Oh god!" Walt calls out.

"Oh god!" replies my sister.

I can't answer. My mouth is full.

xXx

I knew that I should have gone instead of her, but being in the early stages of our relationship, I indulged Scully on occasion. When Charlie had been gone for over twenty minutes, she got, well...agitated. I had seen the Scully family pack, with all their folding and straightening. I knew that packing Charlie's rooms could take an hour, so twenty minutes wasn't much to worry about.

I had taken the opportunity to get in the driver's seat. First of all, it looked better if a cop came by and saw the car parked in a cab stand and second of all...if we went through another traffic circle with Scully driving, we would all die.

I am just dozing off when the passenger door slams.

"Get the hell out of here!"

"What? Where's Charlie..."

"Get out. Drive. If we're not gone in 3 seconds, Fox Mulder, so help me..."

I throw it in drive. "Can you at least tell me where we're going?" I ask.

"Away. Your place. Anywhere."

I head toward the Memorial Bridge. Perhaps the site of Arlington Cemetery will remind her that life is precious. It is either that or head toward the GW hospital and get her some anti-anxiety medication.

xXx

I know that I should be relieved. Clearly Skinner's interest in my apartment is not the situation between me and Mulder, but somehow the image of my little brother...on the floor...I walked in on my mom and dad a couple of times as a kid, but there were always bed clothes involved. This was so...well, it was like a real life Robert Mapplethorpe exhibit.

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong?" Mulder asks as he parks the car in front of his building.

I shake my head. I can't.

xXx

"What is wrong with you? I've never seen you like this." I slide my hand over to take hers. We have been through so much together. It makes me crazy when she won't share her feelings. It is something that we continually work on. I am fairly certain it will still be an issue when we hit couple's therapy after ten years of marriage.

"I...Mulder...I'm such a fool," she says, turning her face to me, tears slipping out of her eyes.

A fool? Was this about us? I thought we had talked about the pluses and minuses of our relationship.

"Charlie. I should have seen it! I'm such a fool."

"Dana Scully, you are many things, but you are not a fool," I tease, leaning in to kiss her. She holds on to me for a moment and then slips back.

"No, it was right in front of my face and I wouldn't see it."

"What is this about?" I am totally confused at this point. I had looked forward to meeting Charlie, but based on Scully's reaction thus far, I would take Bill any day of the week.

"Charlie...he...he wasn't alone."

Ah, so that was what it was about. Suddenly it all flashes in front of my face...the afternoon, Skinner, Scully, her brother.

"Skinner was there?" I ask.

The look on her face told me I said the wrong thing.

"I can't believe you knew about this and didn't tell me!" she yells. Before I can answer, she is out of the car and half way up the block.

-END OF PART 10-

 

* * *

 

Red Rover - Part 11  
by truthygirl  


"Oh, god!" I gasp as my back arches and I come hard. I close my eyes and as I ride a wave of incredible ecstasy I know that there is no way in hell that I am giving this up. This man. This love. The peace and joy that overwhelms me in this moment cannot be marred by the peculiarly familiar feminine screech that echoes, "Oh, god!" 

Not Charles, I reflect dimly. Too high pitched. And his mouth is full.

Then a door slams and I open my eyes. Charles kneels before me with his eyes shut tightly and his mouth twisted into something between a grimace and a sheepish "cat that got the cream" grin. Which is somehow fitting because he's also trying to lick a dribble from his chin. 

"Uh, Walt," he murmurs. "I don't think I'm grounded anymore." 

xXx

"Sculleeeeee!" 

I catch up with her before she gets to the end of the block and bolts out into traffic. 

She stops suddenly and glares at me. 

"Damn it, Mulder! If you knew, why did you let me go up there and make a total ass of myself?"

I'm still puffing. I'm a distance man, not a sprinter. I steer her back toward the car. 

"Hey, partner. I just put it together myself. But let me get this straight: you're not upset that there's something between Skinner and Charlie; you're pissed because you didn't figure it out?"

"Why in hell would I be upset about Skinner and Charlie? I mean it's incredibly stupid and dangerous, but who are we to point fingers? I just wish Charlie would have "come out" with it back at the Hoover and saved me some embarrassment." 

She pauses and blushes a bit. "It *was* educational," she murmurs with a wicked smile and a tilt of that eyebrow of hers. 

"Scully! I'm shocked! A nice little het female like you?" 

"Good god, Mulder. You act as if all bisexuals are male," she scoffs. "What's good for the gander is good for the goose as well!" 

My utter shock and amazement surely show as I stop abruptly and stare at her openmouthed. 

"Later, Mulder," she says firmly. "We have a gallery opening to get ready for. Let's get your stuff and go back to my place to clean up and get dressed."

Suddenly my no-nonsense partner has reappeared.

I recover sufficiently to leer at her and ask with something of my usual aplomb, "so we'll be getting *undressed* before getting dressed?" 

She continues briskly toward the entrance of my building, but I think I hear a small, unladylike snort. 

xXx

I'm standing in front of a window in Charles' suite. He comes up quietly behind me. As he draws me gently but firmly back into his warmth I know that I have been found by love I wasn't looking for. This is so right. This is so impossible. 

One thing we do have going for us at this point is that we're both still standing. I can't quite believe that she didn't shoot one of us. Jesus! What must she be thinking after walking in on that lovely scene of unbridled lust? Her "little" brother going down on her boss? I shudder in disgust at the stereotypical image of gay men that she witnessed.

"Why couldn't she have walked in on the kissing?" I whisper hoarsely. 

"Would it have made any difference?" he murmurs gently. He nibbles my neck behind my ear. I turn and cover his mouth with mine. Our kiss is slow and searching and...sweet. I pull back and gaze intently into those remarkable eyes.and take a deep breath. 

"Have I told you your eyes are incredible? Right now they're as blue as the sky out there." 

He smiles in acknowledgment...and encouragement, I hope. 

"I just...Charles, it's not just about the sex with me. I, uh, can't bear the thought that Scully, uh, Dana might think that. That you might think that." 

Still that smile. Still waiting for something from me. I swallow hard. What the hell, it's probably over now anyway. Might as well do us both the courtesy of being honest. 

"There are two truths I need for you to know. One, I'm falling in love with you. Two, there is no way on earth to make this work." 

Suddenly those eyes are pools of deep blue lit fiercely from within. I know this look. I've been pinned by it behind my desk more than once. But this time strong hands grasp mine tightly.

"Walt, you're right." My heart plummets. 

"Well, you're half right." A tiny, teasing grin.

"I know the first part of what you said is true. I know because I feel the same thing." 

OK. I'm breathing again. 

"But I'm not willing to accept that there is no way to make this work, not if we are careful and discreet. Neither of us is in a position right now to declare our undying love, exchange rings and move into a cozy little love nest for two. We each have risk factors. Perhaps yours are greater, I don't know. But I'm not willing to walk away from this yet. Are you?" 

Those twin blue lasers searching my eyes for the truth. I'm not noble enough to deny that truth in spite of the fact that, painful though a denial would be, we'd probably both be better off if I did. 

"No," I admit. "Not yet. But we both know it won't be any easier if we continue this. And there are things you need to know before you make commitments. Unbelievable things." 

I shake my head ruefully. I'm living them and I still can't believe them sometimes. Can I convince him that dark forces are at work--that the stakes are much higher than simply being "outed" and having our careers and personal lives ruined? 

"Yes," he says seriously. "I suppose you're right."

He glances at his watch. 

"Right now, though, I have a gallery opening to prepare for." 

His eyes twinkle.

"Ready to hit the showers, Marine?" 

-END OF PART 11-

 

* * *

 

Red Rover - Part 12   
by Ms_X  


"I can't believe I'm going to be late for my own goddamn show." 

I'm trying to remember what my mother drilled into my head one night many moons ago. The silky cloth of my tie flutters in the night breeze as Walt's shiny sedan speeds down the two-lane boulevard. I sneak a quick look in the vanity mirror and my stomach drops. 

"Just look at my hair!"

Walt's eyes slide away from the road and lock with mine briefly before refocusing on the passing traffic. His large right hand reaches over and playfully ruffles my unruly red curls before settling firmly on my thigh. 

"It's nice. You look the part."

Still wrestling with my slippery tie I bat away his slightly callused hand. 

"Oh, really, and what part was that? The 'I-just-had-a-quickie-in-the-shower' look?"

"No, although that look is rather becoming on you," he comments lightly, his eyebrows crinkling as he peers through the rearview mirror. "You know, the tortured, talented, disheveled, mad genius." His voice gains volume and vibrato with each adjective as the car eases around a corner and comes to a smooth halt in the gallery's parking lot. Killing the motor, he turns his head toward me taking in my mussed hair, knotted tie, and uneven smile. "You know, an artist."

I can feel my mouth stretch into an uneven grin. "You mean, 'Art the Artist'?"

He waits a beat, keeping his face completely blank with a slightly bemused expression dancing around his eyes. His eyebrows betray him, though, slowly climbing up his impossibly smooth bald pate. My smile falters, if only to let a small chuckle bubble up and get stifled in my throat. It's too much for him and he cracks, laughing out loud, straight from the belly.

I have a feeling he doesn't laugh very often. I knew that when I met him those precious few days ago in that dark club. And I'm very glad that he's laughing now. His eyes crinkle and his cheeks brighten, bringing out the slight dimple in his chin. A hand flies up to his face, attempting to rearrange his features into some semblance of seriousness, which only makes him laugh harder. My resolve weakens when I see this ridiculous gesture - another thing I'm sure he doesn't let many people see, these attempts to force himself into a emotionless box, to stifle the uncontrollable elements of the life he's chosen to live. The play on words isn't even funny, but it's the memories and pent-up emotions that cause the laughter to escape my stomach leaving me weak with relief and understanding.

He gets his mirth under control before I can, reaching over and gently yanking on my tie. "Get yourself together, your public is waiting for your arrival." His eyes focus on the bunched-up fabric of my collar, working it out of its silken prison. His pink tongue flickers over his bottom lip, his white teeth following, grasping the slicked flesh. 

My breath catches and I know that I'm falling into a deep, bright, unending hole, population 2. He finishes with my tie and glances up at my eyes. My face feels hot and my eyes sting. In that split second, the curve of his cheek burns into my retinas and the smell of his cologne permeates my lungs.

His mouth twists into an appealing grimace. "Ah, hell," he grunts, reaching over to crush his lips against mine. The contact is brief but intense, like a shooting star streaking across a cloudless night sky.

With a quick look in the rearview mirror and an obligatory tug on his tie, my beautiful, complex lover pops the lock and eases his solid bulk out of car. 

He leans in, gives me a lazy smile, and cocks his head toward the small brick building. "Art gallery? Paintings? Your adoring public? Any of these things ringing a bell?"

My stomach churns expectedly and my smile turns a shade wicked. 

"Sorry, what? My mind was firmly in the gutter. In fact, I think I just might look for a permanent home there." 

His eyes narrow and his mouth purses with affectionate irritation. 

"You know, something with a nice yard, maybe some cathedral ceilings, built-in maid service?"

He scoffs and hip checks the door closed. I scramble out of the car, adjusting my slacks. Taking off across the parking lot he weaves through the parked cars with the stealth and accuracy of a prowling cheetah. The wind catches his suit jacket, blowing it up and around his waist, affording me a delicious glimpse of his rock-hard thighs tightly encased in his well-tailored pants. With one hand in my hair and the other holding my jaw firmly in place, I take off after that delicious ass.

xXx

"Charlie, everyone loves you," Johanna, the gallery owner, coos in my ear. "They think you are simply fabulous!" She casually turns to the right, cueing me to follow suit. Sipping on her drink, she gestures with her program to a good-looking, southern-European type smoking a fat cigar. "See the cigar smoker over there? That's Mr. Buono. Old money. Addicted to art. Made a very lucrative offer on the collection's anchor."

I very nearly choke on my watered down cocktail. "He wanted 'Lucretia'?" It wasn't that I was surprised that someone of his caliber wanted the piece -I worked on that piece for nearly a year, creating countless shades of blue by hand until I discovered the right one - I was just surprised that he actually offered something that Johanna, of all people, though was a good price.

"Yes," she continued. "However, it wasn't meant to be."

My stomach sinks and I feel the color drain out of my cheeks. It's not that I need the money, but a couple thousand in the bank would have been nice. I try to keep my tone light when I respond. "That's too bad."

Johanna's laughter tinkles along with her ice cubes. "No, you silly fool. We got a better offer."

"A better offer?" I blurt out, incredulous. "You've got to be kidding."

"Oh, yes," she sighs, returning to her gin and tonic. "A Mr. Walter Skinner. Already settled the tab."

My stomach sinks even lower - did Walter really think that he had to buy my love? Couldn't he see that I was completely infatuated with him? That my chest hurt when he left and that I felt like I couldn't take a breath without him around?

I'm so preoccupied with my own ego trip that I barely hear Johanna's next words.

"I must admit, I was surprised when he said he was going to donate it to the National Gallery of Art's East Wing. Said it was 'innovative, inspiring, and too extraordinary to be cooped up in a snob's private gallery.'" 

She gulps down the rest of the clear liquid and hands me her empty cup. 

"Be a sweetheart and take that for me. I see another potential connoisseur." 

I stand transfixed as she smiles radiantly and blows me a kiss. She throws me a 'toodles!' over her shoulder and I'm alone.

xXx

The night air is intoxicating after the crush of bodies inside the gallery. Throw these collectors some fresh meat and they go from civilized patrons to barbaric jackals, pouncing on the undiscovered artist like Marines on a drunken prostitute. Well, maybe that's a little much, but I've gotten my ass squeezed by four separate people tonight, and not one of them was Walter Skinner. 

So I'm a little, well, hard up. Literally.

Footsteps sound behind me and I arrange my face into a placid expression, ready for yet another sleazy aficionado. I used to love the art scene, the lust and extremism that goes along with creative procreation. Now all I want to do is crawl between the sheets with a certain hard-bodied assistant director and stay there for a long time.

I turn, fully expecting to see Johanna or some other well wisher. My heart lifts when I see Walter, the streetlights glinting off his glasses.

"You know, you didn't have to do that," I say, my hands settling at my hips in my best authoritarian stance. I can feel my right eyebrow creeping up in the traditional Scully glare.

Walter smiles and looks down at his hands. "I wanted to do it. Plus, I wanted to see if the eyebrow thing was genetic."

I return his smile and as I take a few steps toward him, my shoes clunk-on the cobbled pavement. 

"Hey, there, you got a problem with us Scullys and our unruly eyebrows?"

Our gazes lock and his smiles dissipates. 

"There's something I need to say to you." 

His voice drops a notch and takes on a note of gentle trepidation.

I attempt to control my suddenly elevated heartbeat but the nervousness shows in my hands as I anxiously clutch at my tooled-leather belt. 

"Yeah?"

He tilts his head up at the sky and thinks for a brief moment. With a rush of air, he lets it out. 

"You know it's not going to be easy." 

He says it matter-of-factly, with a hint of wavering insecurity. 

"Yes, I do," I reply without hesitation. "Nothing good ever comes easy."

"We'll be far apart for a lot of the time," he counters.

"That's what they made planes, trains, and automobiles for," I shoot back.

He tries to hide his smile as he stuffs his hands in his pants pockets, looking down to the ground and shifting his weight. He looks strangely vulnerable in the darkened moonlight, hard edges melting into the shadows. I am instantly humbled at the depth, breadth, and intensity of this very private man's emotions - and the fact that he's baring his soul to me on a busy downtown street speaks volumes.

"Then I have only one other thing to say," he says, finally looking up into my eyes. Behind the frames of his glasses, I see a hint of coy flirtation. I nod my head for him to continue and he cocks his head to the side, drawing out the words, sliding and slipping them around his wet tongue.

"Red rover, red rover, send Charlie on over."

And I'm in his arms before I can think about propriety or discretion, only acting on an intense combination of want and need. Lips and tongues dance around each other, finding new ways and re-learning old ways to fit together.

When we finally break apart it's to the sound of a standing ovation from a party of two. Dana and Mulder stand just outside the gallery's front entrance, goofy smiles plastered on both of their faces. Mulder hoots and hollers, while Dana lets go with an ear-piercing wolf-whistle, causing a blush to rise on my already flushed skin.

Walter turns his head away from our cheering section, whispering under his breath. "You think the peanut gallery would mind if we skipped out and hit the town?"

Over his shoulder, I see Dana blow me a kiss, while Mulder gives me a thumbs up. He ogles Walter with an exaggerated up-and-down glance behind Dana's field of vision. She turns around quickly and smacks him playfully, pushing him back into the gallery where the crowd swallows them up, still laughing and pulling at each other like couple of high school kids.

"Actually, I don't give a damn what anyone thinks tonight," I murmur, as I inhale the sweet musk rising from his warm neck. He reciprocates by darting his tongue playfully along my cheek, tracing my jaw, stealing my breath. 

"Walt," I croak. "Let's go dancing."

-THE END-

  
Archived: July 04, 2001 


End file.
